


DA:I - The Seraphina Story

by Grievous_Girl



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M, Lyra Lavellan, Mattron Lavellan, Seraphina lavellan, Solas - Freeform, solvellan
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-27
Updated: 2015-11-28
Packaged: 2018-04-23 13:55:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 39,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4879399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grievous_Girl/pseuds/Grievous_Girl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Go along with the Dalish Inquisitor Seraphina Lavellan and her crew on their adventures, facing down perhaps the most dangerous threat to all of Thedas in thousands of years. Meet other other members of Clan Lavellan, a short-tempered Archer named Lyra Lavellan and a wise, calm warrior named Mattron Lavellan. See how each comes to find their place in this chaotic driven venture, feel their bonds of love and friendship, and see what happens when the world comes close to burning . . .</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Snow and Seraphina

**Chapter One - Snow and Seraphina**

Seraphina lavellan had not thought herself any more queer then the next elf, till she had joined the Inquisition’s ranks. Even before the Conclave the ebony haired elf saw no difference in the gathered elvs under the Chantry banner then those marked with Vallaslin, an odd fact that she had little time to explore before the explosion. Perhaps Seraphina’s wide eyed indifference was why Keeper Istimaethoriel Lavellan sent the young mage into the packs of unknown that day, eyes cleared of any judgement; an even more odd sentiment given how most Dalish shunned the seth'lin of the world.

Seth'lin. Thin blood. Seraphina never did like that term. It was better than flat-ear at any rate, but it still felt so . . . demeaning. Shem'elgar was no better.

She shook her head, long hair bouncing about in the bitter mountain air. She would not think of the segregations and politics of people, not now; that was Josephine's job. For now Seraphina wanted to think only of Haven, gaze stretching over the little valley below where the reconstruction efforts were taking place. 

The Inquisitor was miles away from the massive mess of snow and ice, overlooking from a frozen waterfall; it’s color a vibrant blue underneath her dark leather boots. From time to time she would see the workers in the distance, Inquisition soldiers and other volunteers, stop in their tracks. Living statues. She knew what they were doing. Listening for the dead. The softest whimper or gurgled groan would be mistaken for a simple crunch of the snow if one were not listening closely. 

They never found a soul, but in her heart Seraphina still found pride for her people’s vigilance. Someone had to be vigilant, and given the world’s lack of interest the role fell to the Inquisition. 

“We should really be heading back.” A voice called from behind the Inquisitor, Seraphina turning to see her Twin. Lyra Lavellan. “Less your little Shemlen entourage gets all huffy.” That gained Lyra a rather cold glare from Seraphina.

Lyra was a true and born product of her Dalish upbringing, filled with “true” elven pride and all the cockyness that came with it; a complete opposite from Seraphina. The archer was not afraid to speak her mind much like how she was not afraid draw an arrow; witty and fast paced compared to her siblings. The only visible thing that would ever link Seraphina to Lyra was their matching eyes and hair - their irises a vibrant teal with a golden center, and long hair was dark as the night sky. Her Vallaslin was that of Anduril, the Goddess of the Hunt. Fitting. 

“Agreed.” A second voice came about the light snowy winds, a deeper and warmer sound to that of Lyra’s. Mattron Lavellan, older Brother by ten years to the twins. “The Commander made clear instructions for only a two day stay. We have breached this with an additional two.” 

Mattron was a tall and handsome man, featuring more human resemblance in his heavy face and wide form then to an Elf. With broad shoulders and muscular body Mattron was destined to the path of a warrior, clad in heavy leathers and thick chain-mails. On his strong back where two blades - one a normal sword with a heavy weight and the other a court sword (literally just a smaller sword), which would allow Mattron to chop with one and slice with another; a deadly combination for any close quarters combat. 

He matched his sisters by the same dark hair only, his eyes green and skin tanned dark; more akin to their Father then their faired faced Mother. His Vallaslin was that of June, the God of craft. Fitting, but in a weird turn. While Mattron was a frank and manly fellow . . . he enjoyed carving wooden creations; kneading away at a log with the skill of a true artist. 

In the nights before the Inquisition Seraphina remembered warm bonfires, Lyra re-enacting out tales of the day’s hunt to the young ones, and Mattron not far as he worked on several small dalish figures; a eve made just for the children of Clan Lavellan. Those were happier times, simpler times.

“Heh, sounds like Cullen.” Seraphina left the memory be, turning to face her remaining family. While she and Lra had the same face as twins, Seraphina held a much more warmer and caring aurora.; showing in plump cheeks, amber freckles, and a wider smile. And in her physical appearance . . . the Inquisitor was very different then Lyra. 

Where Lyra was a lean and fit woman, with long beautiful arms and strong enchanting legs, Seraphina was a rounder and much more curvy individual. Not round as a highborn noble eating sweetcakes all day, nor curvy as a well endowed lady of the night. The Inquisitor was just . . . well, as said before - Seraphina lavellan had not thought herself any more queer then the next elf till, she had joined the Inquisition’s ranks.

Since then she had taken note that her bigger body, with plump arms and a squishy stomach, was not so much the norm for other elves. It didn’t bother her so much as it did make her curious. But that train of thought was for another time. “He always was the punctual one. Second only to Cassandra.” Seraphina spoke with a delicate voice, soft and tender amongst the displaced landscape; the scars of the self-induced avalanche all about.

“I wouldn’t say punctual.” Lyra commented, shivering softly under her layers of furrs. “More demanding than anything.”

“Would you expect less from a Commander in his position?” Mattron asked, playing arbiter for other views in contrasting situations; twas his way. 

Lyra huffed. “I suppose not. But she's their Inquisitor. She should be able to do what she wants.” The Archer shivered again. “Still . . . it would be nice to be back indoors somewhere.”

“Cold feet already?” Seraphina teased. She had grown to enjoy the Human fashion of socks and a nicely padded pair of boots, while Lyra n the other hand still had her bare toes exposed to the weather. 

Lyra rolled her eyes. “Oh, ha ha. Yes, clever word play. Can we go know?”

“In a moment . . . just,” Seraphina turned back towards Haven’s grave, her smile vanishing again to a somber state. “, a moment longer.” 

Lyra had no connection to the months spent with the small Mountain settlement, neither she nor Mattron had shown up till the discovery of Skyhold. In that Seraphina could understand her sister’s lack of interest to the laden waste landscape below, but pitied it on the less. Lyra knew only her woods and animals, her bow and the thrill of the hunt. She knew not of the glee in a Human woman’s face as you ask questions about her well earned establishment, nor the stubborn pride of a great master smith as you would ask on about his fine metals. 

She knew not of that world Seraphina helped to make all those months back. She knew not the pain that came with such wonderful memories. Pity mixed with mild jealousy as Lyra was still safe inside her Dalish world, but maybe in time Seraphina could show her twin the wonders beyond her narrow point of view; a more gentle and teaching experience. So very different that the horrid teachings Corypheus had taught Seraphina on that woefully fateful eve. 

Lyra and Mattron stood by, readying their mounts for the ride back to Skyhold while talking amongst themselves. All three elves were to busy in their own persons to notice the three figures riding towards them in the distance. The group would be upon them soon. 

  
****

. . .

Earlier that day there had been quite the upheaval at the Inquisitor's delay in returning. 

The Commander was set in a quick pace, his heavy boots clanking loudly upon the stone floor under his rampage; Seeker Cassandra right on his heels. “Request Leliana send out another scout, another bird, something!” 

Two days. Two days more the past Cullen’s comfort zone to let the Inquisitor out of his sight. Cullen had gave Seraphina his word that the events at Haven would not happen again, and yet it felt like the Commander was back at that mercilus battle; waiting those bitter hours for any sign of her return as he did after the destruction of Haven. It was too soon of a sensation to feel again.

Cassandra sighed shaking her head. “Leliana’s reports have been more than sufficient. The Inquisitor is at the edge of Haven’s remains, brother and sister accounted for.” The Warrior knew the Commander’s concerns were valid, but unnecessary. “She is safe Commander, if only taking her time.”

“We can’t know for certain if she is safe given how our advisory works.” Commander had played a fair many Chess games in his day, and he could spot a trick move in any skill level. Corypheus played his game well, put the pieces just where they were needed, and that unsettled Cullen. 

Before her departure Seraphina had been last seen with Solas, giving the Commander his mark. “But not a word back to us informing a decision to remain longer? If only we had word, then-” He let the words slip from his mind at taking sight of Cassandra's expression. A smirk. “She . . . she could have given word.” That last part was muttered to himself as he turned to a door to the right of the Grand Hall. Beyond that lay the elf who could give the Commander some needed answers.

As a Seeker, Cassandra was very good and figuring people out with little effort, and one would expect a hardened veteran such as Cullen to be a difficult puzzle - but in truth he was the easiest book to read. She knew his feelings for the Inquisitor, reaching just beyond the levels of respect, and how they were affecting his nerves. Well that and the Lyrium . . . Cassandra took this moment to diverge from the Commander, going another way. 

In the rotunda were Solas and Varric, speaking back and forth with their usual attitudes; if not slightly more tense given Skyhold’s worry over the Inquisitor. The shorter of the two spoke first. “You are sure she didn’t say anything else? No troubled thoughts? Rants maybe?” 

Varric was pestering Solas about the whereabouts of Seraphina, ruby red covered arms crossed over his exposed bosom. The Dwarf and Inquisitor had formed an obvious bond, not that of how he had with Hawke, but it was still strong enough for Varric to feel honest worry. There was a fondness for the ever calming Seraphina and he missed her company – for every night she would be at his feet, as his fire, listening to his tales of Hawke and other Great Adventures. He had gone without such company for two nights extra then scheduled. “Anything odd you can think on that she said before leaving?”

Solas on the other hand had been engrossed in a particularly interesting tome when the dwarf had barged in and begun harassing him; not taking too much concern in Seraphina’s prolonged stay at Haven. It was natural for her to seek comfort from the pain caused their, time to reflect and come to terms with any lingering pain. Solas knew this all too well. 

What truly bothered him was the constant bombardment about this whole situation. It seemed like events like these were becoming ever more frequent the longer he stayed with the Inquisition. He wasn’t quite used to so many people pestering him all day long and he would be lying if he told himself he didn’t sometimes miss the peace and quiet of travelling alone. But, all things considered, he didn’t mind Varric most of the time. At least he had a sense of humour Solas could appreciate.

“I believe her intention was clear when she left.” Solas replied politely as he flipped the page of his book with one, delicate finger and began reading the next page. His nose wrinkled and he sniffed disapprovingly at the wildly inaccurate theories about the Fade that the author proposed, and he almost forgot in that moment that he even had visitors to begin with. “The Inquisitor is doing what comes naturally. Let it be.”

“Well . . . shit.” Varric sighed, holding his wide digits to his temple for a few seconds; in a mild attempt to rub away the worrisome headache building in his mind. 

It didn’t help and Neither did Cullen for that matter.

Now it was the human’s turn to add in his own words, that controlling voice echoing in the round room like a lion's growl. “You believe that was her only intention? She didn’t tell you anything more?” That was a little hard to believe in the Commander’s opinion. Seraphina dotted on Solas since Haven, more than Cullen felt comfortable with. “She tells you everything, does she not?”

“I wouldn’t go that far, Curly.” Varric’s gaze moved up to the towering terror of metal and feathers. “A Lady never reveals her tells. Trust me, I write about this sort of thing.” Dwarfs stab at humor only got him a rather disdained scowl form Cullen.

Solas couldn’t stop the faintest snort of laughter escaping him at Varric’s comment. He’d browsed some of the dwarf’s books from time to time. Why Cassandra liked them he couldn’t fathom. Compared to the fluid, graceful writing his people once had created, Varric’s tales were like a child stumbling in the darkness, haphazardly trying to piece words together into a string of sentences that vaguely made sense. 

He also did not appreciate the poorly hidden references to a specific bald elf the dwarf sometimes slipped into one of his more recent series, either. 

“I assure you that she does not tell me everything.” Solas replied and he couldn’t stop the sarcasm encroaching into his voice. “She has not, for example, informed me of her favorite color or her favorite choice of dance.”

Slowly, deliberately, he flipped a page in his book again. He shouldn’t have taunted the poor Commander, but he’d seen the way Cullen fawned over their Inquisitor and it had planted the smallest, festering seed of jealousy deep within him. And sometimes, he couldn’t help but nurture it by watching the Commander fluster.

“You both find room to jest in her absence?” Cullen’s hand was on the hilt of his blade, but not to draw it but for comfort; like how one would hold to a stone in a violent storm. He scoffed and turned quickly, wanting to get back to the search at seeing how both were going to remain mostly idle. “I do hope what you find in that book of yours is truly better than finding the Inquisitor.” 

And with that the Human was gone, leaving his mark in the atmosphere like a fresh tingle of lightning.

It certainly made Varric flinch somewhat as the door was slammed, shaking his head with another sigh. “Hm. Tell you what Chuckles, how about we give him something to feel even worse about? We find Seraphina before he does, then you and I can gloat about it for a few months.” 

The blonde haired dwarf tilted his head before motioning to the door to his left, which lead outside. “I bet she just found herself a nice little hole somewhere with some rabbits or something. Or maybe puppies . . . kittens perhaps.” That was his cue to turn away from the Elf and his worldly muses, heading towards the other exit.

Cullen’s reaction filled Solas with a dark, cruel glee that made his lips tug into a rueful smile as the commander stomped away. A small part of him did worry about their Inquisitor, though, and it was that part of him that made him put down his book and follow the Dwarf, his necklace dangling gently against his chest as he walked out the door.

“Or perhaps she has lost herself in a veritable mountain of flowers,” Solas offered because somehow he suspected that might have been more plausible than it sounded. He yawned as the bright, warm daylight swept over him and reached to stretch into the air. He’d been in that stuffy room too long, it was pleasant to get outside for a change.

Or perhaps not - for the stench of Seraphina’s magic was like a slap to the face, a drifting echo waving in the air as each blasting breeze went past; sad and cold. 

Varric did not seem to feel it, simplify pressing forward along the battlements. His immunity to the vibrations of Magic was obviously because he was a Dwarf, and neither Vivienne nor Dorian had stepped outside to feel the lingering presence. As for Cullen’s blindness to it . . . he was not the Templar he once was; tracking sense of magic dulled by his months of Lyrium fasting. The Commander was right to be tense however, he knew something was wrong but just couldn’t pinpoint it.

“Want to-” Varric was interrupted by Solas’s hand to his shoulder, looking up to the bald male with a curious manner. 

“A moment Varric.” Solas started as he paused for a moment and closed his eyes. He blocked out the rest of the ambient noises irritating his senses and focused on the tell-tale hints of the Inquisitor’s magic fleeting through the air. Hers was the kind of bright, glowing spirit that was easy for him to pinpoint when he wanted to. She shone out against the rest like the sun creeping over the mountains every morning at Skyhold.

“ . . . She is safe, but something flares in the air. Something troubling.” Solas continued and he glanced around, putting his direction that he felt her coming from. Haven. “But we should get the horses, we will cover more ground riding than on foot.” He only prayed that the stable master would not insist that he ride that abomination of a bog ‘unicorn’.

Varric’s expressions twisted into a mix of confusion and worry, trimmed with even more curiosity; but he knew better than to actually ask out loud. After the shit he saw with Hawke the Dwarf got used to Mage's weird sense of knowing things. Whatever it was, must be flowing through the veil or something?

To this day it still made no sense to him!

“Horses, right. Uhh . . . I’m assuming we will want to inform Commander Curly? Or shall we leave him guessing?” There was an appealing thought in leaving Cullen in the dark, but that cost would pay the price of earning the Human’s disdain for a few weeks. 

The pair walked down stone steps to the stable, escaping the Battlements and heading towards the sounds of awaiting mounts. Even the beasts seemed on edge.

“You may invite him if you wish.” Solas replied with a shrug as he approached one of the harts. “Although I suspect his fretting like a hen will not exactly be beneficial in this circumstance.” He pressed his hand against the animal’s forehead, felt her soft, short fur brush against his palm and whispered, ever so softly to calm the beast. 

The Hart bowed her head to him, allowed Solas to stroke along her neck before he opened her pen and let her out. He took the reins in his hands and pulled himself onto her back, and then glanced down at the short Dwarf; allowing his lips to tug into an impish grin.

“Should I find you a ladder to assist you in mounting your steed?”

“Think so little of me, do you? Chuckles, I don’t need a ladder, so you can wipe that smirk off your face.” Varric, to his inner displeasure, went to one of the more accurate mounts for him to claim; a densely haired pony breed for hard labor and cold weather. 

This breed of beast was sturdy, stout, and speedy; just right for a Dwarf . . . . or a child.  
Varric mounted the pony with ease, quickly drawing out a little pad of paper form one of his various pockets, quickly jotting down a note for Cullen. He signed it with a rather hardy smirk of his own, called over a messenger, and sent the lad off on the double. “He’ll catch up, and before he does I’d like a nice, argument free ride. On your mark.” 

And so the hunt was on, and lucky for them they at least knew where to look.

It did not take to long for Cullen to Gallop his way on an ebony colored stallion; a bitter notion set in his features as he caught up to Solas and Varric. “Got bored of your books and jokes I see.”

“Perish the thought that I would ever tire of reading,” Solas replied with a chuckle as he urged his Hart on. 

Solas narrowed his eyes as he concentrated on their surroundings, blocking out the rest of the ambient noise around them so he could feel Seraphina’s magic. The general feel was still an overwhelming sense of sadness, it’s heavy burden only increased by the chilling feel of Winter’s grip about them. Solas could feel her pain, and it made his chest tighten. 

“She is not far, hurry.” He told the others as he felt her spirit grow stronger and more vivid with pounding gallop.

  
****

. . . 

Lyra’s ears perked up and turned north, head whipping about to the hills behind them. She stopped Mattron in the middle of his sentence, a hand moving to slap his chest. “We got company.”

Mattron turned his gaze from his sister to the oncoming people, eyes focusing on their shapes. “It’s not a battle formation. To small to be a raiding party. Scouts maybe?”

“Not sure. All this damn snow makes the sun’s glare to hard to see past.” Whoever they were had too much ground to gain for Lyra’s liking, drawing forth her bow and arrow. “Hold on.” She spritely female bound for a boulder not far away, climb it with ease, and took aim. For some reason Lyra found it easier to look down someone at the end of her weapon’s sights. They weren’t stopping, she fired.

The arrow had an explosive tip crafted into itself, so as it hit it’s mark just a few meters in from of the riders it popped with a billow of fire and smoke. It was a warning shot, something to give the unknown approachers pause. It worked and all three pulled back on their reins with sharp commands.

They stopped and Lyra smirked. “Well, I think they know better than to rush us now.”

“Indeed.” Mattron commented, his eyes moving out and about past the three mounted people; to cliffs and hillsides and caves. There was always the possibility of a diversion and ambush, one of the main rules to any good fight. 

“Whats going on?” Seraphina came to Mattron’s side, looking where his eyes went. He nodded towards the three in the distance, her gaze following with a curious glare. “Huh . . . ” If they were volunteers aiding in Haven’s reconstruction efforts they should have taken the marked path laid by the Inquisition, their current position far too strayed from that path to be the case. And the only ones she told about coming here where her inner circles. “Maybe it’s a search party. Oh dear, perhaps you were right! I stayed too long.”

“Well whoever it is, they aren't taking another step forward. Look.” Lyra pointed with her bow. “My arrow got them stuck scared. I can let another fly if need be.”

“I would say more hesitant than scared. Hamin atisha, Da'assan.” Mattron turned his gaze to Lyra, trying to calm his sibling with gentle words and soft tones. It worked, somewhat. Her uneasy tension was still there, but at least her hand out of her quiver. 

“Da'vhenan,” The elder turned his attention down to Seraphina. “, what do you feel about this?” Mattron was always keen on his nicknames, something the Inquisitor missed while away from her Clan.

Seraphina took a few steps forward, a pale hand moving to block out the sun from her eyes as to try and get a better look. One rider was on a very short mount, another was on Hart with its antlers being a dead giveaway. The final was what appeared to be a plane horse. It was to vague of a selection to make a concise conclusion. 

“Let us see first if they are friend or foe.” Seraphina went to remove her left glove, bare hand brought forth - and in its palm glowed the mark. The Anchor. She paused for a few moments, letting the magic flare and build up, then shot out her hand with a huge blast of the green energy; rippling affects echoing out for many yards around her. Bright and brilliant hues of green lightning lashed out into the air, a single for the unknowns to make their intentions known. She waited for their reactions on paused breath . . .

  
****

. . . 

The arrow from before had already made the trio on high alert, but at seeing the Inquisitor’s flash set Cullen’s senses on overload. If she perceived them as a threat it would be easy for Seraphina to unleash her power. He felt his assumption of her welfare flipped dramatically. “Maker’s breath . . . do you think she can reach us from there?”

“No. Not without great cost.” Solas commented, moving to pat his hart’s neck in hopes to settle the mighty animal. 

“She's just being careful, like any popular person should be.” Varric added with a small sigh. Even from this distance he was glad to see Seraphina. She seemed in one piece, out of danger, and that was good enough for him.

However for Solas it was not enough just to see if she was out of danger, he needed to feel that she was secure. Even with the projected curiosity and concern he could still feel the great grief in her emotions, trying to mask itself in the situation. Work, War, Rest. Work, War, Rest - repeated again and again in a tiring cycle of worry and anxiety. It was no wonder now why she took a few extra days to find some sort of stillness in it all. 

Their sudden appearance certainly did not help. 

“Might I suggest something?” Solas asked only as a pleasantry, already going into action by dismounting his Hart. Cullen and Varric gave quick looks at each other, then to Solas and took his lead. They had no worries of their beasts getting to far away, they were trained by the Horsemaster to come when called. Trying to appear was passive as possibly the men took their time to get down the embankment, watching how the Lavellan’s guard began to lower.

  
****

. . . 

Lyra could point out that bald, gleaming head anywhere in a crowd. She scuffed and slid down the rockface, landing on her feet with all the grace of a leaping Halla. “As predicted, your Shemlens approach.” 

The Hunter did not like Solas, not one bit, but he made Seraphina happy; for some reason or another, despite all his bashing of their people and customs. Lyra added with a small chuckle “Are you sure I can’t fire another arrow?” she asked Seraphina, looking to her sister with a wide smirk, but the Mage already had her back turned and had made her way back to the frozen waterfall; eyes out on Haven once more.

Mattron gave a proper answer by a little smack to the back of Lyra’s head.

Seraphina remained quiet, contemplative, and as frozen as the land about her. She hadn’t wished to bring her companions or advisors into her pain, unwilling to press her own issues onto her inner circle, for they all had enough to deal with. Meetings, marches, mysteries, mayhem, it was all too much. And yet . . . was it cruel of her to wish for someone to just help ease it all? 

There was no escape, but someone to help ease would be a blessing.

Cullen, Varric, and Solas were upon Lyra and Mattron within minutes of their descent. The Dalish Warrior spoke first, bowing his head as the approached. “Andaran atish’an ma Lethallin’en. Garas!” He welcomed them with a genuine smile and friendly tone. “Ir abelas, forgive us for not sending word sooner.”

“It would have helped many back at Skyhold put their worries to rest.” Cullen snipped out, still a tad cross from the lack of communication. But at the very least Seraphina was safe.

“She didn’t want to leave.” It was Lyra’s turn to snip out, taking a few steps towards the Commander. “Even if we had sent word back, would it have made up the difference in our delay?”

“Perhaps not, but the Inquisition goes through a selective series of channels. We-” Cullen sighed and rubbed the back of his neck, unable to try and argue with Lyra. He and she were more alike than either would want to admit. “-were just worried. A few developments have unfolded back at Skyhold that could have used attention a day ago.” 

Cullen, Mattron, and Lyra continued to talk for a little while Varric and Solas carefully made their way to the Inquisitor. The Dwarf did stop though and looked to his taller counterpart. “I think I’m gonna let you handle this one Chuckles. I’m good for a joke, but um,” He couldn’t help but notice just how downdraught her body language was “, I think she’ll need more then a laugh.”

Solas frowned as he gazed at their Inquisitor, her mind lost to the internal turmoil; lost to him, which was a new sensation. Normally the younger mage was eager to seek out Solas, but with this burden she sustained. He wished she hadn’t. 

With a little nod to Varric Solas carefully approached Seraphina, cautiously so as not to startle her and as he pulled up beside her; clasped hands behind his back and stared across the expanse before them. He did not face her when he spoke, but his words did not hide his concern well regardless.

“Inquisitor,” he started formally, “Your Commander has been fretting himself into a frenzy over your disappearance.” He waited for the little snort of derision from Cullen before he continued. “Pray, what brought you here?”

“. . . Is it not obvious, ma Hahren?” Her voice was fragile, as soft as cotton and light as a cloud; so much so that it could have been lost in the mild breeze rushing up the stilled waterfall. Her pink lips formed into a little smile in an attempt to hide the downing emotion was still pulling it it’s corners. “This place . . . screams at me through the fade. In my dreams it calls to me, marks me, mocks me. I-I wish to find peace with what happened here. And yet . . .”

Solas’ lips pulled into a thin, dry smile at her words and he glanced sidelong at her. “You feel guilty for what happened?” He shook his head, gently. “Da’len, sometimes there is nothing you can do to assuage it, sometimes there is no peace. Sometimes you simply must endure, cover the memories and quell them and hide them from the world.”

He would know, he had become an expert at hiding from his past; dulling it and pretending it didn’t exist because the pain of admitting the things he had done wasn’t one he could bear. Solas was selfish and self centered, but unlike him, Seraphina didn’t have a true reason to feel guilty over her actions. She was a victim of circumstance, and Corypheus was his own villain and the cause of his grief.

“But you, da’len, have no need to be at peace with what occurred here.” He tried to reassure her with a smile. “It is the fault of Corypheus what happened at Haven, and not yours in the least.”

Solas’s words rang half-truths with Seraphina, a small frown finding it’s way into her expression. How could one hide and bury their guilt? Perhaps it could be done for short burst of time, a monetary dulling of your senses, but the pain would surely come to find you in the darkest of times; creeping along the shadows of your mind. Still there was some wisdom in his words, and he was showing concern for her within it. It was all she would dare ask of him.

Seraphina nodded and laid her head moved to lay upon his shoulder, feeling this attire’s texture against her cheek. It felt nice. “Dread wolf take Corypheus then. Ma melava halani, ma aneth ara; Lethallin.” She could have remained there with Solas like hours.

Solas however stilled at her touch, his body tensed and his words failed him. Seraphina was warm against him and her touch was unexpected. To feel her now, leaning against him, threatened to shatter his resolve with his mind screamed at him to turn her away; to end this now. But his heart swelled at her subtle embrace and lapped at every second of it, letting it consume him with a dark glee on thinking of horrid discomfort Cullen must be feeling in that moment.

Slowly, he reached up and slipped his arm around her shoulder. “The Dread Wolf take Corypheus indeed.” He whispered and he couldn’t stop the smirk that tugged at his lips. The Inquisitor didn’t know how right she was. 

Seraphina found herself melting into Solas’s form as he held her, an ever so slight blush hewing into her pale complexion; adding to the reddened caused by the touch of cold. She more then enjoyed that moment of peace with her companion, the sadness and distress of her magical aura fading at each passing second. There was just something uniquely . . . comfortable about Solas, even with the innate prodding at how her people’s misjudgements.

At times Seraphina wondered if Solas was merely playing a role to aid her, an attempt to make her a better pillar for the Inquisition to lean on, or if he cared more deeply than that . . . the thought drew a coy smile to her lips. 

“Solas . . . I enjoy you holding me. Do you wish to do it more often?” Her mismatched eyes beamed upwards at him, head tilting to the side. Her words were honest, but also laced with a few scallops of teasing. “If not, I am sure Cullen would not mind holding me. But that armor our Commander adorns makes his embrace rather . . . stiff.”

“You . . . wish me to hold you?” He hesitated and in that moment the reality of what was happening crashed into him. Solas slipped away from her, rubbed at the back of his neck with an awkward cough and glanced away in the hopes that she might not see the blush that was spreading across his features; tinging his ears pink. 

Then, very carefully, he cautioned a look back at the Inquisitor and his brow pulled into a frown. He forced his muscles to relax and smiled, ever so gently at her. “If you wish for comfort then I am happy to oblige distracting you from your thoughts, although . . .” 

He paused as he glanced briefly at Cullen and his seething expression that begged of a man who was trying to bore holes into the back of the elf’s head by glaring. “I might have to insist that I comfort you in a manner which does not put my life in peril. Perhaps I can teach you magic you are not familiar with, or how to twist the Fade as I do.”

Yes. Both those options were far less likely to get him killed by a jealous ex-templar, Solas reasoned.

Seraphina shook her head and decided it was time to give Solas some clarity . . . and motivation. On her very tippy-top-toes, leaning back into Solas’s personal space, Seraphina reached up to kiss at his cheek. “I chose what way I am comforted . . .you and the others are you just along for the ride. Come along now!” 

And with that she broke away from the stunned Solas, giving a sharp whistle to call over her own Hart; skipping off to the rosey colored animal. Her majestic beast made the Inquisitor feel like a living doll, for she was so tiny compared to the Hart’s extreme size; so very proportionately different than riding a Halla. 

To say Solas’ blush flared violently at Seraphina’s kiss was an understatement, cheeks burning with what felt like a temperature. He coughed awkwardly, cleared his throat, and took a deep breath to calm himself before stalking back towards his steed.

“For your consideration Inquisitor,” Varric spoke with a laugh under breath “, I once gave a friend of mine a ball of twine to help when she would venture out alone. It had a pretty positive turnout rate. I’m sure I can get the same technique to your arsenal, should you wish.” He mounted his pony again, a gleaming smirk stretching from ear to ear. The Dwarf had saw that kiss, pretty much everyone there had, and he knew how much it would bother the others. This was a great lead for another chapter in his book.

“Or perhaps I can just drag my Commander along with me? He would work better than any twine leash. You wouldn’t mind, would you Cullen?” She giggled and looked over to the scowling human, daggers of eyes set on Solas until the Inquisitor spoke to him.

“I-uh-ahem. Whatever option keeps you safe.” His retort was quick and flustered, doing his best to stuff away his hurt pride. But that was derailed as the Inquisitor trotted over, leaned off her stattle, and placed a soft peck onto Cullen’s cheek. His eyes went wide and she gave a right hearty laugh.

“I’ll worry about choosing my options for later. For now, we have work to do!” With a reenergized gleam to her spirit, Seraphina was off racing alongside Lyra on their Harts. Mattron and Cullen rode with a more subdued pace, Varric’s poney trying to keep pace, while Solas brought up the rear.

The elf had his eyes fixed on Seraphina during the journey back to Skyhold, watching her with a curious look on his features; trying to decipher her intentions; in that moment frustratingly difficult to read. Still what bothered Solas even more was that he wasn’t even certain of his own emotions. Too many years he’d spent alone, content to be by himself and only to . . . what, fall for her the moment she showed him an ounce of affection?

Solas groaned and pinched his brow. This was not how this was meant to happen.


	2. Hide and Seek

“One . . . Two . . .Three . . . Four . . . Five-” And so the game had begun - with Seraphina as the Dread Wolf, the seeker, and the children playing as the Dalish people, the hiders. She was counting loudly, yelling it in fact, so that as the children went scuttling about they could hear her. The booming of her voice was so clear that the echoes even made it into Solas’s seclusion, the countdown bouncing off those round walls; teasing him with great irritation. The real wolf was closer than anyone would realize.

Two children rushed into the rotunda, chartered to themselves quietly and seemed oblivious to Solas’s presence not far away. He watched, drawn from his current work. One child was a Human boy, topped with curly auburn hair, and the other was a Elven girl, her long dark hair in a braid. The lad ducked into the stairwell that lead upwards to Library while the girl went for Solas’s desk. She looked to the Mage, grey eyes filled with life. “S-Ser, might I borrow your desk? I promise I won’t mess with . . . your stuff.”

“My desk? What for, Da’len?” Solas’s lips curled into a thin, ironic smile and he cocked his head at the little girl. 

“The Inqui-oh-the Dread Wolf is coming to get me and I need to hide. I-It’s part of the game, Ser.” Her smile was innocent, pure.

“Hm, then by all means.” He gestured towards his deck with a graceful flick of his long fingers, and when she scurried underneath he chuckled and summoned a small spell that distorted the air around the small elf; partially hiding her from the eye’s view. He rested his hands on the wood, casually pretending to read a book again. With his help perhaps the girl would be the last to be found. 

Through those long minutes there were gleeful sounds of children and Seraphina throughout the castle, giddy laughter and mocking howls blasting out as each kid was caught. Eventually Seraphina and her horde of children came into Solas’s domain, the Inquisitor moving over to Solas with the gate similar to a wolf; far from doing the actual animal any good credit. 

The Inquisitor smirked to her Fade expert, her accent washed over with a little growl. “Well, what have we here? A lost little elf? Oh goody!” She learned onto the maple top of his table, nails tapping loudly against its surface; earning a wrinkle of Solas’s brow. “Perhaps then you can help me find a lost little girly?” The kids around Seraphina were already at working in attempts to find the last survivor, howling and growling as they went like little Dread cubs.

Solas suppressed his irritation at the way he Dread Wolf was portrayed, watching as they hunted for the girl hiding at his feet, eyes flickering to Seraphina as an idea creeped into his mind. And then his lips curled into a grin and he summoned a spark of magic in his hand. “Hm, careful Inquisitor,” he purred as he formed the misting magic into the ethereal shape of the Dread Wolf behind her, its eyes glowing red with; many of the children looking at it with wide eyed and silent fear - as if their very voice had been made mute in the summoning. “, if you play these parts for the Dread wolf . . . Fen’Harel just might pounce on when you least expect it.”

“Oh Solas, don’t be so Grim and fatalistic! I-” He twisted his magic to make the ghostly wolf howl and smirked as he waited for Seraphina’s surprised reaction.

The scream that broke from the Inquisitor's lips was nothing but ear shattering, the fake Fen’Harel doing its job with outstanding results. She gripped at the desk, those same nails as before digging at the wood with a highly genuine fear; the only hold keeping her from falling flat to the floor. There was no surprise the children were caught in a mix of shock and laughter, with some of the younger ones rushing to hide behind the laughing adolescence; laughing at the great prank and the mighty Inquisitor's fear. 

“Did I win?” The hidden girl came up from under the desk at hearing the great uproar, her little face brushing at Solas’s knee as she emerged. Her answer was found in the slow nod that Seraphina gave her and in a loud cheer from the other kids congratulated the winner.

As the children were distracted Seraphina took many breaths, deep breaths, to try and settle herself. It did not help. She set a hard pressed glare back at Solas, remaining quiet as she seethed. “ . . .”

Solas chuckled at the woman’s stare, a deep noise that rumbled in the back of his throat. He dispelled the magic with another graceful flick of his wrist, the wolf vanishing in a harmless puff of smoke. He pushed himself to his feet and stalked towards Seraphina, his bare feet padding against the floor as he reached out and offered his hand to her. “I apologise, Inquisitor,” he purred as his lips pulled into the faintest of grins. “I did not think the Dread Wolf would scare you so.”  


She looked at his hand for a few moments, sighing with a scoffing breath. " . . . I shall not forgive you easily." With his help the Dalish was on her feet once more, looking at where the shadow wolf once stood; just to be sure. "I-I would ask you not to so such a trick again . . . less I have nightmares." That was no joke, the hint of fear in her eyes; a story hidden there.

Seraphina turned her attention back to the children, thanking them for the game before sending them all back to their parents or care takers. Most were orphans created from the aftermath of Haven, a heavy wake of families broken in the chaos. The least she could personally do for the youths was a quick game of hide and seek.

When Solas and the Inquisitor were alone she spoke. "Thank you for helping the child, I know you did. Your magic has left traces here." Seraphina waved a hand to the piece of furniture, a somber smile finding its way to her face. "She . . . She is alone now, and friendly people are in short supply these days."

“It is nothing,” Solas replied with a dismissive shrug as he glanced in the direction the children had left. “Contrary to what others might think, I am fond of children. They have an . . . innocence that adults are so often sorely lacking.” He glanced at her briefly, his blue eyes dancing across her features in a split second before he tore them away; it wouldn’t do good to stare. “Although I might recommend that you be careful where you allow the children to play in the future. Josephine might have a fit otherwise.” He chuckled as he thought of the ambassador. 

"Oh, she already had one by the collar for me as I entered her office." Now it was Seraphina's turn to give a chuckle, moving a tad closer to Solas at each word. "The poor thing had made the grievous error of hiding in her tote, accidentally locked himself inside!" He laughed with her, the pair remaining in a small silent space for a moment.

It made Seraphina extremely happy, and strangely proud, to know Solas had patience for such creatures of innocence. Not to say that Josephine did not have a tenderness to her, but in Solas it seemed . . . a much more enduring feature. Before he had always been a rather stiff and cold fellow, but perhaps if he showed such softness with children he would . . . 

"Solas . . . Would you like to hear a tale?" The Inquisitor gave that keyed head tilt, clearing the space between the two with a few quick steps; almost too close for Solas’s comfort. His muscles clamped up and froze on him, he glanced away, clearing his throat awkwardly as he tried to think of an appropriate response.  


His mind screamed at him to run, that this situation could get out of hand faster than he’d realised, and then he’d be sucked into something he couldn’t worm his way out of; not that he didn’t enjoy stories mind you, but with the Inquisitor it was slightly different. Slightly tempting, slightly dangerous. But despite the hesitation something inside told him to stay, the glint in her eyes bright from the braziers about them. The reflecting light was beautiful. 

“I . . . yes. There is time to spare.” Solas replied carefully as he moved to return to his chair; his posture slightly awkward as he invited her closer. The small action made Seraphina’s smile bright, gleaming. But even in her warm nature his posture was straight, clasped his hands hard on his desk and gazed at her with careful, slightly narrowed eyes. 

Seraphina settled as she began her tale, a very subtle hint of a blush moving over light, Ghilan'nain vallaslin. At times in the right lighting, it looked as if the Inquisitor had no blood writing at all; comforting Solas if only for a few seconds. 

“I was five years old when I almost died.” Solas’s brow raised, but Seraphina went onwards. “While my brother was out exploring the hillsides he saw some Human children playing hide and seek in the thawing snow of spring, the seekers acting as Templars and the hidders being Apostates. In a bout of inspiration he sought to make a Dalish version, featuring the seekers as The Dread Wolf and obviously the hidders would be the people.” 

She shrugged almost nonchalantly. “It was out fondest game for many days, until. . ." In that sentence Seraphina drew her face downwards, round eyes set to the ground as she readied for the next part. It was harder to get the words out then she thought, her body slightly shivering as she recalled the harshness of the tale. 

Solas’s brows furrowed again when her eyes became downcast and he leaned forward, ever so gently his fingers brushing against her arm; concern in the subtle touch. “Inquisitor?” Solas prompted softly and he angled his head to try and catch her gaze; attempting to draw it from where it was so determined to stay.

The touch was helpful, Seraphina’s own soft digits moving to trace over his knuckles as her sign that she was alright. She continued, “W-We had decided to play the game while ice-skating, to raise the stakes? Looking back It was such an absentminded idea to play on the ice, so foolish. I had no idea what dangers lay beyond the markers areas the elder's left for us to play, venturing out onto the thinner ice as I went to go hide from the Dread Wolf.”

She paused for another moment, eyes closed as she relapsed back into the memory; the chill settling over her skin in waves of goosebumps. “The ice gave way and I feel in." It was clear now why she disliked the cold. "Had it not been for the the wolf who dragged me out,” She went to lift the trim of her dress ever so slightly, Solas’s ears reddening a little, pulling till her ankle was in the light - and there upon her skin was a scar of fangs; wolf fangs “,I would have drown. To this day my Clan, and those how catch wind of the tale, are unsure if it was just a local long wolf looking for a quick meal . . . or Fen’Harel. Either way we did not play the game after that day."

Seraphina went silent for a little bit, finding herself drawing back to Solas; a distant look flashing in her gaze like lingering fire-pit embers. "Those who stick to the superstitions believe that it was indeed the Dread Wolf, and that he claimed my soul - brandishing me with a terrible bad luck. The crowning achievement of his ill-will onto me . . . perhaps the anchor?”

The Inquisitor sighed, looking to her left hand while speaking. “Before this I set an aravel on fire when testing a fire spell. I also accidentally spread a rash among the Clan when burning herbs into the air. I even caused a rockslide that broke one of our Hunter's legs when I attempted to control the very Earth. I guess I gave them enough reasons to send me to the Conclave . . .” 

Even if she tried to smile for Solas, her words only made his brow crease further and his lips pull into a sneer. It wasn’t directed at her, it could never be directed at her, but he doubted if she would understand that her head tilting at taking in his expression in confusion.

He sneered because he was tired of how the elves saw the Dread Wolf, how they made him into the enemy of their people, the cause of all their ill fortune. He had not sacrificed so much, put himself through so much pain and suffering, simply to have his image distorted and for others to view him as a monster. Solas forced his expression to soften before he started to disturb Seraphina, and he managed a thin smile at her in return to her own.

“Through all of this, did no one consider to focus on the fact that you were alive? That you pulled through all of it and did they not think that, perhaps, that should hold more merit than whether or not the Dread Wolf was snapping at your heels?” He gave her a reassuring, pointed look. “It seems to me they have lost their focus on what it truly important.”  


"M-My . . . My Keeper and my family saw past the rumors at least, and honestly that was all I cared about. With those who doubted me, I proved them wrong when I became my Keeper's First. Bleh!" With a bit of a playful smirk she stuck out her tongue, the gesture not aimed at Solas of course; just as how he did not mean for his unsettled sneer as before. Still he had to stifle the urge to let his gaze flicker to her tongue when Seraphina poked it out. It had truly been far, far too long if his mind jumped to places it shouldn’t from such a simple, innocent act.

“And perhaps if it was Fen’Harel that day, in his own strange way he cursed me with a purpose . . . set me on this path? To save the world? Who knows with Gods these days, given any origin." Her point was made clear with their current foe and his own claims to godhood. Also in how people took her to be the Herald of Andraste; both situations a tad ludicrous.

Still it felt easier to think the Dread Wolf more real than the Maker. Even a bit Safer to think that way. After all, the Dalish would not set Seraphina on fire should she fail her mission - unlike poor Andraste. 

That thought then brought on a slew of words that flashed by so quickly that Solas might have had issues keeping up; a rant lasting what felt like days. through any loop in the conversation things seemed to always return to the Dread Wolf. "-after all he did walk on both si-uh. . ." It was after a few more minutes of her running words that Seraphina finally caught herself, drawing her voice in with a heated blush; ears lowering in embarrassment. "Ir abelas Hahren, that must have bored you greatly."

“Not at all,” Solas replied, his lips pulled into a grin. “You have very interesting opinions about someone who is, according to the Dalish, responsible for their fall from grace.” He continued and if his voice sounded like a silky smooth purr, then he made no effort to change it. “I would be careful how loud you say things like that however. The Dread Wolf might hear you and get ideas.” 

His eyes danced with mischief as he continued for he taunted her purposefully now to get a reaction, anything, out of her. “Some ancient memories do have it that he was once fond of enticing innocent little things such as yourself, da’len.”

"Hahren!" And to his greedy glee the ploy worked, drawing a whine out of her sweet noise of a voice, head turning rapidly around the room with darting eyes; even upward to the rafters high above them. No wolves, nothing dreadful, just really annoying birds.  
As the Inquisitor reared her gaze back to Solas she aimed the second tongue flick at him, followed by a glaring smile. "Here is warning for yourself - we innocent types usually turn out to be the ones that break the deviousness out of beings like you in the end."

It was then an idea struck her, only adding to the heat in her smile. Seraphina moved to his side with purposely swaying motions "Hmmm . . . you know Solas, I have told you some more about myself and my doings. I do feel it is only fair now that you tell me more about you. Yes?"

“You want to know about me, do you?” He chuckled deep, the sound rumbling in the back of his throat as his pale blue eyes flashed with an impish joy. He kept his calm this time, staring her down carefully as he continued, “I am not that interesting, I assure you. But . . .”

He paused for a moment as he considered his options and when he landed on the one he wanted, his lips curled into a grin. “But not here, da’len. Go, do whatever it is your advisers demand of their precious Inquisitor. I will . . .,” He hesitated for a moment to emphasize the word. “, visit you, later.”

Poor girl couldn’t have known what he meant, but he would show her the moment her head came to rest on her bed that night and her eyes flickered closed. Oh but even in the unknown she was so giddy! 

Perhaps she would learn of his parents, or maybe childhood pets? Seraphina took pleasure in simple, common things. In those aspects people seemed the most real. The day passed with flying colors, and in all her excitement Seraphina found her body needing a light rest; a small nap. Once she was back in her own Quarter’s she cuddled into the blankets of her bed, asleep before she knew it.

**. . .**

Solas found her easily in the Fade that night, the tracking made effortless for him seeing as how Seraphina’s spirit glared out against the darkness like an unrelenting sun; almost too much and overpowering his senses until he set the scene.

He slipped in and he twisted, replicated Haven in its entirety - manipulated with such detail that the environment would feel as real to her as if she was awake. Without her experience of travelling through dreams as he had, he suspected she would think it was real. The idea of her feeling at home in the fade, in this artistically crafted dream, pleased Solas greatly. And it began, turning to Seraphina in the light snow flurry as he led her up the steps towards the main drive; watching her reaction and gauging the reality about them.

"W-Why Haven?" The Inquisitor had been here just a few days ago with her siblings, and was not too keen on coming back here so soon; not before she had worked out her inner turmoils. 

But Seraphina trusted Solas and took his lead, staying close to his side with wondering eyes set about as they went along. It seemed like nothing had changed, the bitter winds and chilling snow blowing all about her heavy furred robes with a shivering familiarity. And yet it felt . . . no, that was just her wild imagination running off again. Her expression was set in a blend of confusion, intrigue, and general stiffness.

“Haven is familiar.” Solas answered as he took her into the main hall and towards the steps of the dungeon. “It will always be important to you.” He paused before the cells, gestured towards the ground where she’d once been a prisoner and where he’d once been her guardian, the only one keeping her alive.

“I . . .” He started, and then paused with a frown. “I watched over you here, kept the mark from destroying you. It was a trying time.” His lips pulled into a faint, dry smile as he remembered what it had been like. 

Cassandra had been so frustrated, so irritated with his lack of progress with the breach that they’d clashed wills and butted heads on a regular basis. To think now that he might even caution to say that he enjoyed the Seeker’s company from time to time. 

How things changed.

The Female had her eyes set on that once dreadful spot, heartbeat pounding in her drooping ears as she focused on the past. It was as if she could still feel the bonds of those cold chains on her wrists and ankles, the lingering threat of death at surviving the explosion, the tingling sensations of the fade torn apart only miles away. 

It was good to have Solas there, a needed shield from such visions. "Solas, I don't believe I properly thanked you for . . ." Seraphina cleared her throat with a shaky sigh; obviously unsettled. "Ir tel'him, emma eth serannas dar ma Hahren."  
“You are welcome Inquisitor.” Solas replied and he glanced at her, his brow knotting as he noticed the pain dancing across her features. “In truth, I almost gave up on you. There were so many nights when I struggled to keep you alive, so many failed attempts at closing the breach . . . ” He pursed his lips as he remembered the way the seeker had shouted at him once, demanded that he do better. 

“Cassandra began to suspect me of trickery, if you had not woken up when you did-” He paused to word his next sentence, because for all Cassandra’s might, she could never have truly held him back or defeated him if he did not want to be restrained. “Let us say that tensions were high between us, and one of us might no longer be here if intervention did not happen when it did.”

"That sounds like Cassandra alright, heh." Seraphina did not look at Solas as they spoke, trying to hold in the welding tears despite the smile on her face. Solas was correct about Haven being a permanent, important place in the Inquisitors life - bringing up such conflicting emotions; pride, sadness, remembrance, and shame all knotted together in her gut.

Seraphina chanted internally to pull all the frayed strings together, if not for herself then at least for Solas. This was where he wanted to talk about himself, and it was wasteful to bring tears along for the ride. In a final sniff she finally moved her teal and golden eyes up to Solas, the quirked smile breaking open pink lips with mild humor. "G-going around trying to beat all her issues into submission. Such a wonderful tactic our Seeker pulls . . . don't tell her I said that."

“I won’t,” he replied with a chuckle. He turned, gesturing out of the dungeon and he led her back outside. “In hindsight, I could have left,” he told her as they walked, the cold air that he had manipulated so well out of the Fade rushed over them. “But I kept telling myself, one more attempt to close the breach.” He reached out, gestured towards the sky in the same way he had held her hand to close the rift the first time they’d met. 

Solas still remembered what Seraphina’s skin had felt like beneath his in that moment. “Then you came along. You had sealed it with a single gesture . . .and right then,” he stared at her, his gaze transfixed as he continued. “,I felt the whole world change.”

"You . . . You felt the whole world change?" She hid her sorrow in the moment with Solas, taking in each little action he did and each little motion he performed.  
So far Solas had only explained a few things about himself - One, that he cared enough for a stranger to stay by here night after night. Two, that even if he wanted to leave he didn't, having a deep commitment that most mortals feared to even consider. And finally Three - She changed his world. Each second gave her a little more courage, a stronger urge and heated need to . . . to . . . 

Meanwhile Solas’ cheeks flushed a furious red at what he’d said, and he cursed beneath his breath that he’d been so stupid to utter the words. He hadn’t meant for it to end up like this. But all he could focus on was the curve of her mouth with their rosey color before him and he couldn’t, no matter how he tried, wrench his attention away. So he muttered instead, nervously, “A figure of speech.”

"I understand the metaphor . . . I was more interested in felt." One step closer, two steps closer, all little steps, but they neared her target. Those wondrous eyes of her filtered behind long black eyelashes, mouth forming into a small cooing shape, becoming more and more gentle in every movement she made. Seraphina was so close, so close that she swear she could feel his heartbeat in the air; only adding to Solas’s distress. This was decidedly not what he’d planned.

“You . . .” He started, and his body stilled again, refusing to obey him. “You change . . . everything.” He stared at her for a moment and then he wrenched his gaze away, finally gaining control of his form, and stared into the distance - hoping in vain she would not act. He focused on the horizon, his pale blue eyes determined not to flicker back to Seraphina’s as he held his posture tall and regal, pretending as if none of this was happening.

"Such a sweet talker you can be . . . " And is was in that second Seraphina striked, a quick kiss placed upon Solas’s lips before he could decline. But however quick her kiss was, it was still laced with nervousness, blushing as she reached up on her tip-toes to match his height. Her normally pale face was glowing cherry red in Haven's sunlight, a warm hand cupping Solas's jawline with a terrible shake, and those lips . . . like silken rose petals as she pressed her taste against his.

Seraphina broke her kiss, glittering eyes wide as she pulled back; wanting to give room between them in case . . . well . . . he wouldn't yell at her surely? But if Solas detested the kiss better safe than sorry.

Her boldness startled him momentarily at first. He should have expected it, he should have known, and yet he didn’t and it was that that made him pause when she slipped away from him. He looked shocked, his eyes wide with a mixture of surprise and desire but then his lips were tugging into a smirk and he reached for her. His arm slipped gracefully around her waist and he pulled her into his embrace, ducked his head down and found her mouth once more. 

"W-!" Seraphina's words were eaten by Solas's maw and motions, whimpering as he thrust his feelings into their embrace. He felt . . . so hungry; like a starving beast feasting in a delicate carcass.

His lips parted beneath hers eagerly, and in any other situation he would have detested himself for being so forward, but for him it had been centuries and to feel another in his arms after so long like this was sweet, exquisite torture. He begged that she would open for him, ran his tongue along her lips and pulled her, tighter, against his body. And in that moment, all his hesitation and defiance of his emotions shattered, and he stopped caring, for a split second, that he would hurt her, and indulged himself in his selfishness.

On the other hand this was all knew to the young Dalish, a wondrous spinning of passion and excitement packed together in his kisses. So like the student she truly was, eager to learn, Seraphina gave Solas what he wanted - teeth clashing together in beginners error, but she went limp for him to enter; more and more sweet sounds escape her now parted lips. 

She drank him in, his scent, his taste, his feel, even the sparking magic around them as the two almost seemed to become one. The Inquisitor found her arms roping around Solas's neck, adorning herself in his person like the bone necklace he wore; half pulling him down and half keeping herself upright. Eyes closed, heart open, and living in those drawn out, sticky, heated kisses. "Solas-M-!" His name was broken between her panting breath and the fluttering in her chest.

But to her most dooming disappointment saying his name is what slipped Solas from her lips, jolting him out of his as he crashed, almost painfully, into reality once more. Fleetingly, he pressed one, final kiss to her lips and forced himself to pull back. The damage had already been done, but he told himself as he pulled from her embrace, that perhaps he could mitigate it. It pained him to no longer feel her warmth against him, the brush of her hair against his cheek or her soft skin beneath his fingers, but it was better this way. 

Slowly, carefully, Solas stepped back, fixed her with a pensive look that twisted into a longing, idiotically hopeful one without him meaning for it to happen. “We shouldn’t.” He whispered and he cursed himself at the way his voice sounded so affectionate. “It isn’t right, not even here.”

But how he wished it could be right, here, anywhere. He would take her wherever he could get if it would make this not wrong.

A few quick blinks later a Seraphina was somewhat conscious of his words, but still her passionately beating heart was escalated to high and to beyond for serious question or worrying. She merely muttered out in quivering notes. "W- . . . What do you mean? N-Not even here . . . ?"

At the confusion painted across her features, he allowed the edges of the dream to flicker and distort, hinting at where they really were if she was quick enough to pick up on it. Solas’ lips tugged into a smirk and he gestured around himself. “Where do you think we were?”

"This . . . This isn't Haven." So . . .that explained the feeling of something being off earlier, sensing the tingling of the fade and dreams upon her skin; the edges of her vision blurring and how things seemed to echo. 

"N-Not the real one anyway . . . so, none of this is real?" The confusion turned to remorse as this set in. This was a dream, a twist of reality; a shadow. So the kiss . . . was it . . . real? Was that sparking lust, that hungry affection, real? Her black brows creased into saddening sadness, looking for Solas for clarity.

“That depends on your matter of perspective.” Solas replied with a soft chuckle. “A debate which is best discussed when you wake up.” He flicked his wrists, his hands splayed before her as he flowed magic from his fingers and collapsed the dream around them. 

And then, a second later, he was lying awake in his quarters on his bed, his hands clasped over his chest and staring, contentedly at the ceiling. He knew it would only be a matter of minutes until she came and found him. But for now, he could gaze into nothingness, happy to wander in his thoughts and remember how her lips had felt against his.

  
****

. . . 

The sun was gone, leaving the sparkling sky as Seraphina’s only greeting in the dark. She shivered and held herself, re-thinking of the dream before moving to start a fire. It didn't take much effort to set the stilled logs ablaze, a snap of her fingers was all she needed.

As she warned herself up Seraphina spoke to outloud. " When he said he would seek me out later . . . I didn’t think he meant in that way. Heh, Sly dog." The Inquisitor sighed after a light chuckle, moving over to her desk to grab at her thick, furred robe. With a little toss she had the heavy fabric draped over her shoulders, setting her aim down the stairs of her spire.

Her feet were light against the cold, stone floor; bare pads tapping quickly as she went to find Solas in the night. Seraphina did her best to crack doors open slowly as to try and not wake others up, looking about before entering the various rooms. Finally she came to his door, racking her fists softly upon the wood. "Solas, please open? I-It is cold out here . . ."

Her voice drew him from his idle thoughts and he glanced sidelong towards the sounds. “It is open, Da’len.” He called as he pushed himself to his feet. He reached up, stretched his sleepy muscles and strolled towards the door. Casually, he stood before it with his back to the rest of the room and waited for Seraphina to enter; desperately trying to maintain his indifference - as if it would make what had happened between them any less real.

On his cue Seraphina entered, a mild glare set right on Solas as she made her way to him. She sighed and waited for Solas to speak first, refusing to be first; she was owed that much. “ . . . ” 

“Sleep well?”

“Huh. . . that would depend on your matter of perspective.” Seraphina’s tone was hinted with a bit of sarcasm, finding the courage to take a few steps forward. “I could ask you the same question. But I know the answer. Perhaps I shall toss at you this line of thinking instead-” The girl, just barely peeking out of her childhood years, now stood in front of Solas with the determination of a well-aged veteran of passion; the scorn of a thousand angry woman looking up at him in those glittering eyes. “-when I asked to talk to you, for you to tell me more about you, I did not expect it to be in the Fade. Or for that matter would we do . . .” A blush gave way through the upset, flashing her gaze down to Solas’s chest. “ . . . that in the fade either.”

A low chuckle rumbled in the back of Solas throat as he caught her gaze, his lips tugging into a wry smile at her choice of words. But it was gone in a flash a moment later and his brow pulled into a frown for a split second before his features became impassive and unreadable as he spoke. “Yes . . . Forgive me, the kiss was irrational and impulsive.” he replied softly and he tried so hard to hide the desire that tried to slip into his words as he remembered what her lips had felt like. “And I should not have encouraged it.”

It was at that Seraphina could give, a small scoff and smirk as the irritation started to mix with a heated passion; annoyed and excited all at the same time. “You say that . . . but if I recall correctly it was you who started the more feral kisses; tongue even! Tell me, what does that say to you?”

"What?" Solas replied with a look of mock hurt and indignation on his features. Try as hard as he might, he couldn't stop the chuckle that seeped into his voice. "I did no such thing!"

“Oh? Does it count if it was only fade tongue? So, by your logic it can only have merit and be real if we,” Even if Solas would fight in her movement, attempt to pull away or shrug her off, Seraphina acted. She was upon him sooner than he was prepared for, her arms looping about his neck again and curvaceous form presses to his from; as as before. “, only do this in the fade? Is . . .is that it? Do . . . do you wish for this to not be real?” 

As much as Seraphina wanted to be upset, wanted to be angry, she could not help but blush ever so softly; the looks aimed at Solas pleading. “Am I not . . . real enough for you?”

“You . . .” He paused and tried, carefully, to disentangle himself from her. “You are real, more than real sometimes. But . . .” He hesitated as he tore his gaze over her features and read the hurt that was simmering there. “It has been a very long time,” he continued gently. “I need time to think and consider, Inquisitor, if you would let me . . .”

Time . . . such a fickle thing it proved to be. 

Time for her had become distorted once she awoke in Haven’s dungeon. One moment you are attempting to pacify either side of the Templar and Mage war in order to permanently seal the breach in the sky, and next you’re freezing to death after you crashed an entire mountain down upon yourself. For all that counted, Solas and herself were here in this moment, an awkward friction of need and duty that could be ruined at any that damn Archdaemon in a single chomp.

After those thoughts passed in her head Seraphina let his person go, withdrawing from his own and eyes set to the floor; holding that same sadness she held while the Fade. “I . . . I’m . . .willing to take that chance, to pin against the ticking of time; f-for you. Take . . . take what time you need to. I . . . I should . . . let you get back to resting.” Her shoulder’s sunk, the fire in her motivation dimmed for now.

That kiss . . . doomed them both. She turned to go away, but froze at Solas’s soft voice.

“Seraphina, wait.” Solas started gently and he tried to smile to reassure her. “You are a remarkable woman, it has simply been years for me and I need to . . . consider.” He would not tell her it had been centuries because she didn’t need to know that, but he felt he ought to reassure her the slightest. 

With a smile bordering on pensive tugging at his lips, Solas watched her leave. Once he was alone, he sunk back onto his bed, placed his chin in his hand, and tried desperately to wrap his head around what he was doing. He knew it was wrong, that he shouldn’t encourage her for her own sake and his, but try as hard as he might, his mind kept slipping back to her soft lips and how he longed to feel them against his again. Perhaps he could convince himself to return her affection for a time. 

But he truly was a selfish, arrogant man if he did so.


	3. Ma Hahren, Ma Vhenan

After their kiss time seemed to move at a rushing pace for Seraphina and Solas, all goals and missions set in front of the Inquisition knocked down with bountifully enthusiasm. Personally, Seraphina was brighter, her trademark smile bigger and rosey cheeks glowing with a permanent happy tune to her voice. And even in the most dark of places the Inquisitor seemed to be living on a high. 

The cause of the high was starting to spread wild rumors and her fellows knew what was true and what was not in the tossing accusations; Varric taking the situation in for good sport. The dwarf made joviale jabs at the culprit of Seraphina's mood every day, a totally new array of martial to smirk in Solas's direction. 

"Chuckles, ever heard of the term 'cradle rocker'?" 

"I bet she weaves flower crowns just for you, huh Chuckles?" 

"Thats two elves down, and one to go. Gotta' find Sera a lay before she gets stir-crazy. Or . . . more stir-crazy then she is. Hm, Maybe we can-"

“Varric?” Seraphina looked down to the Dwarf.

“Yes?”

“Hush.” She had been collecting Elfroot, the dirty stalk in hand as she went to boop the dirt onto Varric’s nose. He grumbled with a gasp, whipping away the dirt as Seraphina giggled. From the corner of her eyes She could see Solas smirking. 

Truthfully She hoped Solas would do the same and just let the comments roll of his mood; like a duck dripping dry from just being in water. What she truly hoped the male elf’s mind was fixated on was if he . . . wished . . . well . . . the decision was his, but that did not stop her from drawing off that hopefully ponder.

Her wonderful mood continued into the late week, nearing the time to return to Skyhold with Varric, Solas, and Iron Bull in tow. They arrived to the fortress mid-day and lunch already over, but as news came from the gates that the Inquisitor was on the horizon the cooks went right into preparing a welcome home feast.  


Between the meal and meetings about Skyhold Seraphina did not find herself back in Solas's presence till much later in the day; dinner rolling around with the haze of oncoming twilight. She wished to speak to him before the Sun was all but gone, seeing as how the elven mage didn't particularly seem . . . interested in joining her and the others in their friendly gatherings.

Or if he did wish to join he made a bad front at showing the urge to. Either way, words needed to be said. This time instead of the female going to him, she had a messenger deliver a note to Solas - asking him to find her along the battlements; outside. Solas needed to get out more.

**. . .**

Solas did not find Seraphina immediately after he received her letter of invitation, because he did not want her to know truly how much he had been longing for her company. Instead, he took his time to finish his book and then eventually dragged himself from the Rotunda. He walked along the battlements, his sweater blowing ever so gently in the wind, and when he found her . . . he could not help but admire her from a distance.

She was waiting just beyond the reach of the Commander's cove, long black hair flowing behind her like black fire; wild and unkempt as it swayed at the wind's command. Her gown was simple but warm, cool colors of grey and silver laying against her pale skin; shimmering softly. Those pouted lips were quirked into a content smile, long ears and button nose tipping red thanks to the mild cold in the air. Her eyes were ever sparkling as thoughts danced in their mixed colors. 

To Solas she hahin’en - Glorious. 

After basking in her glow Solas approached, silently, and clasped his hands behind his back as he stood by her. “You asked for me?” He prompted as he stared out across the mountains, his smokey eyes narrowed in thought as he mulled over thoughts far too pensive and revealing that he would never speak them to anyone; even her.

“Indeed, I did, ma serannas.” She too kept her eyes outwards to the mountains, trying to appear not . . . wanting. That was harder said than done, voice brimming with barely bound joy at the male’s presence. Yes they had been out all these past weeks together, but mission after mission and sleep filled nights didn’t leave much time for socializing.

With a small chuckle Seraphina’s hands went to her dress, plucking at the fabric softly. “A gift from the Earl of Redcliff. T-The dress, I mean. He sent it thanking me for . . . ‘purging his lands of both the Templar and Mage threats’. More accurately, his Castle.” 

The trim of the gown was detailed with silver flowers, creating the most elegant of floral patterns – leaving it to wonder if the Earl was helping in his selection of gifts. Maybe Josie offered a taste into the Inquisitor’s taste with a suggesting letter; she did so ever enjoy the gift! “It . . .it is colored to match the mountains here, b-but I do not think I could ever match their grandeur. What do you think?”

“It is beautiful,” he acknowledged with the slightest nod of his head. He glanced at her; let his eyes trail up the fabric and curve of her dress for a moment before looking away once more. “But comparing it to the mountains around us is pointless, like comparing chalk and cheese. It would achieve nothing but insult you both.”

But while it would not do to compare her with something inanimate such as the surroundings, he thought, to himself, that there could not have been another more capable of appearing so beautiful in that dress before him. But he was loathe to admit that he felt that to her, lest she get ideas of his intentions which he was still unsure of himself.

“. . .Chaulk . . . What is chaulk?” The subject took a rather sudden change for both, looking over at each other. Seraphina muttering the word again and again; slurred and said incorrectly at each attempt. “You . . . you eat it? I don’t understand. . .” The Inquisitor gave a light chuff at that, thinking to herself – maybe it was some sort of fruit, since Solas made mention of cheese? Fruit and cheeses tasted wonderful together! 

Maybe it was like whine, another good companion of cheese.

“It is a . . . mineral,” he explained with the faintest of frowns. “It is mined from mountainsides and used for artwork and sketching. The metaphor is that chalk and cheese are two very different-” He cut himself off with a faint sigh. “It is unimportant. The point is that it would be a disservice to both you and the mountains to compare and argue over who is more beautiful.”

“Oh . . . a mineral . . . huh . . . I . . .am going to do my best to find a compliment in that, heh.” It was clear on her face that she felt a little embarrassed, and in that awkwardness found it’s weasley way in.  
She was twiddling her thumbs and eyes moving to peek over at Solas gingerly. She had to ask, needed to know. Surely in the span of weeks he would have figured it out? “Solas . . .about our conversation, a-after our shared dream . . .have you-” paused for a moment to find the gull. “, have you come to your decision?”

“No, I-” he paused and pinched his eyebrows as he tried to find words to express what he meant. “I have not had time to consider, my thoughts have been . . . troubled as of late.” 

“ . . .Because of your friend?” He nodded at Seraphina’s question. He had not been sleeping well and his dreams had been troubled by the unusual absence of one of his companions. He’d hoped she would return, but she hadn’t; only nightmares remaining with her screams for his help.

Seraphina had never experienced the loss of a friend before, family yes, but this was a different kind of pain; something stretching far beyond this world and into the next. Wisdom’s death would leave scars in the Fade for years to come. 

Perhaps she should have let him kill those mages. Perhaps if he found his vengeance in their deaths he would have been at peace. It was not a method Seraphina considered healthy my any means, but to some people it was a better tool them mercy; letting their enemy carry on in this world with the shame, rather than given death’s sweet release.

“I-Ir abelas, hahren. I wish we-I wish I could have . . .” Seraphina sighed, waiting a few moments to try and find the proper words. Seraphina closed her eyes, hoping the tale would help in anyway. “ . . . My Father died when I was very little, and after that my Mother couldn’t find the strength to raise her family. She to passed within a year.” 

Solas’s pain for his friend mixed with the need to hold his da’len, her magic snapped sad when thinking of her own loss. She went on. “We . . . were on our own for the most part, save the clan’s support; b-but that weaned as rumors of my curse grew. I know what it's like to miss someone - that void in your heart, in your dreams. But I found healing in those around me, in those I cared for. You . . .don’t need to mourn alone Solas. Not anymore.”

“Thank you Seraphina, but I will manage.” He told her gently. “I will endure . . . as I always have.” Before she got the chance to question his choice of words, he straightened himself and painted a forced happy look on his features. He stepped back, gestured back into the castle and added, gently, “Perhaps we could continue this conversation somewhere private? I have been meaning to discuss something with you.”

He wouldn’t say it to her here, not when others might here, but he meant to tell her that try as hard as he might, he hadn’t stopped thinking about their kiss and it was driving him mad. And he needed to tell her, somehow, he needed to sort out their awkward relationship because anything was better than the quasi state they were in at the moment.

"Of course Solas. Garas.” She waved and he followed, the pair silent as they walked through Skyhold; passing a few of their comrades along the way. Seraphina would wave to each while going by and they in turn gave their own little greetings, but Solas remained indifferent of it all. 

What was most curious to Seraphina was that her siblings were engaged . . . with Humans. Lyra was sitting at table in the great hall with Cullen playing a game of chess, while Mattron was in the Library having a rather heated discussion with Dorian. It was not so surprising for Mattron’s nature, but for Lyra it was highly irregular. With her twin’s dislike for flat-ears, Creators that was such an awful term, Seraphina had always assumed the dislike Shemlen would be greater . . . what was happening?

It made her ponder even when she and Solas were alone once more, the small balcony of her Quarters, a confused and befuzzled frown on her face as she thought of her siblings. speaking of which, “Ma serannas Hahren for treating my family with respect, despite their differing views as Dalish. Lyra particularly. I know she will cause more friction to come, but perhaps as she stays here that can be treated. Oh! B-Before all this - you wished to speak to me about something? I become so overwhelmed, I-” 

“It is fine, da’len.” He interrupted gently, reassuring her with a small smile. The cold wind of the setting sun brushed over the pair and making then shiver ever so slightly. That would not do. With a flick of his magic Solas set the air about them with a vibrating heat, warning them to a comfortable Summer’s afternoon. 

After that his face changed into a curious, guarded look; speaking again. “I am curious. Have you changed since the anchor?” He needed to know for his own sanity, because the thought that he might have affected her some way with his orb was troubling to him. “Your mind, your morals your . . . spirit?”

At his question the Inquisitor pulled off the trade-mark head tilt, blinking a few times at his question. “ . . . ‘Tis like asking if I notice my blood moving in my whole body. I know it is there, but how it moves is unknown. Why? Do you think I should have felt the change, if such a thing occurred?” She didn’t feel any different. Perhaps a bit more curious to the world, but that seed was planted long before coming across the anchor.

“No, I Suppose not,” he replied somewhat defeated, but he forced himself to smile to hide it; he wouldn’t dampen this moment with his melancholy if he could avoid it. “I was only curious.”

“So . . .that curiosity was the only thing that drove you here, to be alone with me?” Seraphina was getting used to Solas’s tell signs, her practice building as she would play diamondback with Blackwall. The Warden may or may not have given her more personal insight to Solas, at least from another male’s point of view. 

The Inquisitor took another step forward, eyes pleading. “Why do you ask? And don’t tell me some turnaround tale Solas, I’m onto you.” She could not help but give the male a bashful smile, ears flicking up in amusement.

Solas paused for a moment as he considered what he ought to tell her. There was truth in what me needed to say, but too much of it and his work could come crashing down about him. And yet she had to know as well. “Because you show a wisdom I have not seen since . . . since my deepest journeys into the ancient memories of the Fade.” It was only a white lie, but still, it was a lie. “If the Dalish have raised one such as you, have I misjudged them?”

"Hm, the Dalish . . ." Seraphina sighed, ears slouching as her mood changed. She loved her clan, dearest friends and sturdy companions and even those that looked on at her with uncertainty, but even in her affection and loyalty Seraphina knew deep down that she was not the reflection of what all Dalish believed. Her views, words, and actions were often too often considered to be unorthodox. 

“ . . .The Dalish did not raise me like this, the decisions that have lead me to this point were mine. I would not have said you misjudged them, but perhaps . . . lumped us all together? Y-you saw and experienced only strict elves who hide in shadows and forests, a-and that mindset clouded you to . . . to seeing people like me.” The Inquisitor did give a small blush, but does her best to shake it away. 

“I-If you wish to thank someone I would put my gratitude to Mattron. He is everything the Dalish should embody, b-but they are to . . .afraid to move on; evolve. Still they do try to maintain the forgotten ways of our people, and that is sufficient enough for the time being.”

“Perhaps that it is it then. I suppose it must be.” He paused for a moment, because even as far away from her as he was . . . his eyes were still trailed to her lips, and the memory of how they’d felt against his in the Fade. “Most people act with so little understanding of the world, but you . . . ” He trailed off into silence; his eyes narrowed and trained on her as he watched her reaction.

Another sigh escaped those pouted maw, trying to ever so cautiously close to gap between them. “But I-? Solas, where does your line of questioning lead? W-What does this even mean?” Seraphina’s hands were already fiddling behind her back, fingers and thumbs twiddling and fidgeting together in a mass of barely concealed excitement. On waiting for Solas’s answer her teeth came down to bite upon her lower lip, one ear up while the other ear down.

He smiled in spite of knowing he shouldn’t. “It means I have not forgotten the kiss.” It was a rash and ill-considered thing to tell her, but it had slipped from his lips so effortlessly he couldn’t regret it.

“Good . . . neither have I.” Solas had given the Inquisitor the perfect bait and she took it, hooked and wanting to be dragged in. 

Rather quickly she enclosed the space between them, looking up at Solas with arms still crossed behind her back; speaking softly. “In fact . . . that kiss has been fresh in my mind, in my dreams, for weeks now. I suppose I need to thank you for that.” And now it was the waiting game, like trying to skill up your opponent's next play in Diamondback. 

Her words and actions made his mistake painfully obvious to him and he shook his head, gazed at her sadly for a moment, and turned away. He made for the door because it was kinder to leave her than to break her, and yet each step pained further from her pained him because he wanted nothing more than to let himself love her.

It was a bluff? Truly? No, no it- . . . . it couldn’t be! 

Seraphina read all the books, took all the advice, even practiced with her reflection day in and out – this was true! Her heart screamed for it, dare she could feel Solas’s own heart screaming the same song. The flirtatious manner left her little tone, little voice breaking as she reached to grab at Solas’s arm; digits shivering into the pale fabric. “D-Don’t go . . . please Solas, please stay. S-Stay . . . ir isala ma.” 

Her words pulled at Solas, his chest tightening as the weight of his decision swing against him. Damn him, damn it all! “It would be kinder in the long run, but losing you would-” His words were lost as he pressed a kiss to her lips, curled his arms around her body and drew her against him with a needing fever. Solas threw reason to the wind as he pulled Seraphina into his embrace, even if he knew he shouldn’t; his desires got the better of him.

And so they were lost again in the bonds that held them together. In their kisses Seraphina smiled, eyes closed, moving her arms up Solas’s back; nails racking gently along his spine. He groaned at her pull, biting her lower lip in a lusting act of rebellion. They traded these passions for a long while, and while Seraphina didn’t want this to end . . . Solas did have work to do. He knew this as well, sighing gently and pressed a last fleeting kiss to her lips. 

With a little hum Seraphina moved to nuzzle his chin with her lips, a farewell affection. “Mn, ma hahren. . .”

Solas smiled at her adoration, ran his thumb over her cheekbone affectionately, and then stepped back with a warm glaze in his eyes; adding in his own parting words. A whisper that sent chills up her spine “Ar lath, ma vhenan.” Reluctantly he left, but how he wished he could have stayed just a moment longer.

. . .

Days had gone by, and it was only till Cullen’s words had been placed rather bluntly into her face, Seraphina figured out what was going on inside the Commander. Oh how stupid and silly she felt!

“Solas!” Late afternoon was upon Skyhold as Seraphina came into Solas’s domain, a most flustered and fixated expression set to her normally gentle features. Her feet were quick paced, lined with hard heel taps as she approached the male in study. In a flurry of words and emotions she blurted out, the echoes reaching high into the rookery. “When was anyone going to tell me I had been flirting with Cullen?” The girl’s face was cheery red, ears low, and slender hands curled around his desk.

Cullen? Flirting? Oh dear, this was something Dorian could not pass up. The Tevinter moved away from his comfortable chair and corner of the library above, peeking ever so carefully over the railing;barely visible as he looked down at the scene below. There was a mild smirk set to his face, knowing Lelinna would be listening as well.

Solas closed the book he had been reading in the comfort of his chair, placing it carefully on the surface of the desk. It was mahogany, after all. He pressed his fingers together as he drew his face to Seraphina’s. 

He found it difficult to pinpoint her exact emotion; was it anger? Hurt? His brow furrowed, uncertain of how best to tackle the fury of the elf in front of him. He shook his head. “I’m afraid I do not understand; you say you have been engaging in intimacy with our Commander?”

“Of course not, Hahren! He-I just . . .” In the sentence she grew hurt, how could he think she was doing such a thing! After all these months of waiting, wanting, needing for him and she could toss it all side – for what? 

Yes, Cullen was a good man, better than most of his kind she had meet – but little did her thoughts ever go to think of him as anything more than another brother figure in her daily life; somewhat invoking the place of Mattron till her true flesh and blood showed up. 

Seraphina sighed, closed her eyes, and rubbed her temples. “ . . . He and I were playing Chess in the garden. I-I said we should spend more time together, like friends. I want my friends to be happy when around me, to relax and just . . . H-He said ‘Wouldn’t you rather spend your time with Solas?’” She tried to mimic his accent and tone, to no avail. 

“Cullen looked so . . . upset.” Her shoulders shivered softly, trying to find her breath. “So disillusioned. I-I never meant to lead-he just-I . . .” Another sigh escaped her red lips, eyes finally moving back up to Solas to gage his reaction. “How long have I . . . accidently been flirting with Cullen? Please, Hahren . . .”

Solas stood up from his seat then, realizing that what had started as a simple trick between two men had only ended up with his vhenan’s pride shattered. Another mistake he should have paid the price for. 

He suppressed his anger at the Commander, and swallowed the fury that lodged in his throat. His face fell into concern. “Seraphina, what transpired between Cullen and yourself is not your fault. Cullen saw more than what was offered, and the blame lies with him, not you. Do not worry yourself further with this; if you like, I can speak with him myself later?”

He moved to her as he spoke, arms embracing her gently, his fingers softly stroking through her hair. Try as he might, he could not bring himself to ignore his affection for her, the way she held herself with a grace and strength; she did not yet fully realize. In time, he knew, the world would see what he saw. A hand cupped Seraphina's jaw, easing the tension that coiled in her features.

“S-Speak with him? I . . . no, I do not think that would b-be the best idea.” Her mind went back to a time before her powers developed, before the wolf stained her reputation in childhood. A time where little Seraphina Lavellan, long black hair brained into small pigtails, would watch the Halla rut and strut about when attempting to court. The male’s would knock their horns together in fierce combat all in hopes to win the girl, at times creating insurmountable damage to their spiraling racks. 

Seraphina wished neither Solas or Cullen had their racks rattling at each other, it would ache her heart.

But those thoughts vanished slowly as Seraphina found herself lost in Solas’s gentle touches relaxing, like easing into a warm bathe; slow yet welcoming. The hair Solas found himself in was longer than his arm’s length, certainly not going without texture to grace, and jaw easy to control, twist and turn, in his firm digits. 

She smiled, ears starting to peek up slightly. He was helping in every small word, every small mannerism. Others looked upon Solas and saw only a grim, fatalistic man who sought solace from reality, but to Seraphina Solas was a calm rock in the chaotic storm that was called the world. In time, she knew, the world would see what she saw – till then, he was hers.

Seraphina smiled, tilting her head ever so in Solas’s hand to kiss his wrist. “If anything, I shall speak wi-”

“Oh my, you mean to tell me all those fancy words and flirty whims you sent at me were merely friendship?” Dorian’s voice broke into the air like booming thunder on a calm summer day. His tone was dripping with sarcasm and teasing, knowing exactly how to play this set of cards. “And here I thought you cared for me, tsk tsk Inquisitor!” The smirk in the human’s was glowed with pride.

Seraphina and Solas’s gazes shot straight up, the Inquisitor’s eyes wide as she fumbled with her words; all of Solas’s work to calm her down gone with Dorian’s blow. “J-J-Just because I said you have a neat mustache a-and nice hair does not mean I fancy you! I-I said the same things to Blackwall, and Varic, and . . . . oh . . .OH by the Creators!” Seraphina’s hands went to her face, slapping and holding there as she let the new realization hit her. “H-How many others have I-Oh Dread Wolf take me-what have I done!”

Dorian was doing his best to try and not let his giggling get the better of him.

Solas glowered in the Tevinter’s direction, stepping backwards and away from the stressing Seraphina. His hackles were raised, furious that Dorian would be so brazen as to deliberately upset the girl further. The air around him crackled with magic, strong enough that he felt worried eyes trained upon him from the floors above. No, he reasoned, he would not lose complete control. Not here, not over some jape from a mage barely old enough to polish his own staff. 

“Do you really believe that was a wise course of action to take given our Inquisitor’s current disposition, Dorian?” The elf’s words were more bitter than was necessary, but he had seen the ways Cullen looked at Seraphina. He had witnessed Blackwall’s failed attempts to woo her, and then immediately follow the Antivan Ambassador! Dorian was the final straw in this whole mess.

“Oh, do I dare detect a bit of jealously Solas? Must be with all that barking I hear down there.” Dorian, forever cocky, like to play these little games and knew that Solas would dare not start something in the Inquisitor’s presence. Less he wished to prove that feral Southern nature true. 

But . . . maybe it would do him some good to back off soon, for even up in his perch Dorian felt Solas’s magic seeping dangerously into the air. It was all fun and games till someone ended up burnt, literally. “But your point is well taken.” Carefully the male begun to pry himself away from the ledge.

“Solas . . .” Seraphina’s hand that gentle went to grip the back of his neck, warm fingers holding tenderly as she attempted to sooth him with her own wave of cooling magic; subtle, healing sensations tingling over the skin in a rolling fashion. Seraphina often did this to her own body when muscles become too tense. 

True that she was still upset with herself in being so open with her compliments, attachments, compassions, but she needed Solas to be at peace again. Dorian would get his own lesson from Seraphina later, naive enough to fall for his teasing but not stupid enough to let him get away with it forever.

Seraphina found Solas stilled at her touch, softening as he felt the tendrils of soothing magic seep from her fingers. It enveloped him, a calming mist clouding his fury and drawing peace to his core once more. 

He closed his eyes for a moment, savoring the affection from the woman next to his person. Dorian had retreated to his hiding space in the library - for his own sake, more than anyone else’s - and the few people that had turned to watch their spat had resumed their posts once more. Solas turned back to face Seraphina, tentatively raised a hand to cup one of her own, and opened his eyes to peer into her own turquoise pools. 

By now the rage had subsided, replaced by a wash of her calming energy, and he had to stop himself from pressing his lips to hers in that moment, as perfect as it was. Seraphina on the other hand held nothing back, rising to her tiptoes, and kissed him; her love-filled blush returning as she did so. 

The woman gave a small giggle, setting back down onto her flat feet. “Ma serannas, Hahren . . . . but Dorian did have a point. Y-You did indeed sound jealous.” With her tender words Seraphina added a bit of a sly tone, jaw moving to nuzzle into Solas’s hand; another kiss placed into his palm. “I shall have to watch what I say, and to whom, heh. I can’t have you getting all hot and bothered when the Inquisition needs it’s fade expert clear as crystal.

Solas stuttered, clearing his throat and averting his eyes. He cursed himself for the pink heat that threatened the tips of his ears and the apples of his cheeks; he cursed the pooling of blood in his abdomen. He should not have succumbed so easily, and yet he could not deny that he had felt jealous. Seraphina was his, no matter the details of their relationship, certain she would follow wherever he may lead. 

The thought terrified as much as exhilarated him. 

Taking a deep breath he looked back to her unwavering stare, pouring himself into them, drawing back from her warmth and patience. He felt the imprint of her lips against his skin, the warm pulse of blood just below the surface of them boiling the veins under his flesh, branding him with her affection. He gulped, trying to maintain a calm and passionless expression. He could feel his resolve slipping.

“Consider it merely my duty, as adviser to the Inquisition, vhenan.” A small, sly smile broke onto Solas’s face. “I seek only to ensure your happiness. It would not do to see the Inquisitor in any other state. Any assistance I can provide is yours, emma lath.”

“My happiness is your duty? Y-you make it sound like we are we are already bound for life.” Seraphina giggled again, the sound flittering like that of a morning lark; quick and sudden, but still pleasing. Still, being bound to Solas . . . was not such a terrifying idea. 

His gaze faltered at her mention of them being bound for life. As enticing as the idea was, he knew it were not possible, yet her light-hearted joy and comfort made it so easy for him to forget his larger plans. He pushed the momentary fears aside, focusing on her touch, her scent, her speech. 

“Hm . . . Solas, Hear me out for a moment? I have an idea. A-and despite how silly it might seem, just hear me out?” He nodded. “Good. The Spirit you spoke of once before, the one you called The Matchmaker. Could you find her in the fade?”

“If it pleases you, vhenan, I can try to seek it later this evening. Though I would prefer to know your purpose for such a spirit?”

“ . . . I wish for you to kindly ask her to . . . to find someone for Cullen? To seek out one who would, who would-” She lowered her head and thought outloud. “He . . . he needs someone. Varric comments sometimes on how the Commander desperately needs something to help distract him, how Cullen is so serious and just needs to loosen up. I cannot do it. F-friendship yes, but companionship no. I . . .” 

It was clear on her expression that the woman felt guilt, Solas’s words about how this whole situation wasn’t her fault not sticking as it should have. Seraphina could not take back what she had done to the man, but perhaps she could help direct his needing affections to a person that would make that planted seed grow into a flourishing flower. “I-Is is a silly request?”

Solas grimaced internally at the inane question. Frankly, it mattered little what happiness the Commander had. Still, if it pleased his vhenan . . . He brought his lips down to ghost over her own, a red-pink heat sparking between them both. He murmured his reply just a fraction away from her mouth.

“I shall see what I can arrange this evening, ma vhenan. I cannot however guarantee finding this spirit, but if I am successful I will ask on your behalf.” He kissed her lips softly once more before pulling back. Her eyes were closed fluttering open when she felt his face draw away from hers. Her doe-like appearance made her all the more endearing, all the more enchanting.

Seraphina remained close as she spoke, her minted breath breathing into their post kiss like burst of winter. “Ma serannas, ma lath. T-To attempt this for me in the first place is . . . is wonderful.” With a last nuzzle Seraphina withdrew from Solas’s arms, hands trailing along his back, ribs, and then stomach before she slipped from his grasp; leaving Solas’s body aching for more.


	4. Faded Findings

Solas eased his way past the Veil with little effort. 

He slipped through with barely any interference at all, his mastery of the Fade skipping barely a ripple across the curtain between worlds. The mage found himself in the gardens of Skyhold keep, a faint warm breeze rustling through the leaves above him. There was the distant sound of laughter ringing in his ears, but he was alone, or as alone as one can be among spirits. He breathed in the magical air around him, rooting his connection to this spot for when he would waken. 

Satisfied in his strength of mind here he then set above the castle, meandering through empty hallways and silent corridors. Solas stepped up through the towering rotunda, past his office and then the library to the rookery. There he found the ghosts of ravens perched on branches, just Leliana kept them in the waking world. He stroked one of the ravens before whispering to it. It crowed its assent and took off out the window in search of its recipient. 

With time to waste he continued his mindless wandering. Skyhold’s memories had changed since he and the Inquisitor had led her army here. Where once there stood only ruins in the Fade, barren of almost all imprint of time, there stood a giant glittering fortress; the memories of its inhabitants burned so strong. When he focused he could see whispers of his companions - Varric’s essence was seated by the fire as usual, a letter in his hands, smiling to himself. He looked to his right to see Seraphina slipping behind the door to her own quarters. 

Something beckoned him to follow. 

Reaching the top of the final set of stairs took only moments when you only had to imagine yourself there. The room here was filled with light, colors bouncing off the walls and falling over the neatly made bed frame. There was no sign of the Inquisitor now, just an empty room, yet he remained, waiting patiently for his guest to arrive.

It did not take long for the spirit to join the whispering colors and bends of the air, feeling the pull from the echo left by the Inquisitor’s deep affections for Solas. It was not had to follow such love, no matter what ages or barriers stood in her way; the spirit would always seek it out. Despite the dark days, despite love becoming something of a rare thing to come by, the spirit would forever jump on another opportunity to let her influence spread; eager and full of wonder.

The vision that formed itself before Solas was glorious, graced with fair features and an alien beauty that was born from the woman of Arlathan; a long slender body draped in layer after layer of flowing silks and fabrics – sheer in the perfect places to draw the very essence of love and tenderness. 

“The Matchmaker” was quite the opposite of a desire daemon, a lusting abomination that showed skin and flicks of a teasing tongue, things that would only please the flesh for short amounts of time. Nothing as enduring, as true, nor as genuine as The Matchmaker. This spirit was Love, and she was pure in every way possible.

The air glowed white and pink about her, silver hair like water, ancient Elvhen words slipping past plump lips with a matching beauty. “My old friend, it is so good to see you again. You walk here, seeking her, seeking me? I felt the echoes from the Raven, strings between your heart . . . and another? Oh . . . Fen’Harel, after so many years . . . ” 

In her pearlescent, beaming smile was a lingering of age and truth – knowing all too well in what Solas’s true nature lay. Still, it did not deter her from his aching heart, a heart that needed love. “You have come to love? And yet . . . What brings your mind to me, my friend?”

Solas looked to face The Matchmaker, lost in her iridescent expression and kindly eyes. The Inquisitor’s room had been a good choice - the Veil was weak here, easier for her to seek him across the Fade. She had wizened in the years since he had last seen her. It was a shame the same could not be said of him. 

“I come here to ask on behalf of another, Love.” he answered in the Elvhen. He could not be too careful here, the Anchor gave Seraphina remarkable strength in the Fade; his strength. 

“The Inquisitor, to whom I currently advise-” He was cut off by the spirits finger against his lips, shaking its head silently. He sighed, and tried again. True love knows all secrets, accepts no lies. “Ma vhenan,” he began again, and she nodded, “She asks for . . . her affections have been misinterpreted by a friend. She wishes for him to find love where she cannot provide it. I have warned her this is no easy task, but I would at least speak with you . . .” 

He ran out of words. The thought of Seraphina’s kindness, her selflessness, plagued his thoughts whilst being so close to the Matchmaker. She heightened every positive feeling he had towards Seraphina, even the Inquisition. The idea of finding something good in Commander Cullen was . . . unsettling.

“I see . . . Love has been jilted in this friend. Ifeel him . . . a dim candle in a cave of cold. He is alone,” The Matchmaker had a rather distant look in her eyes as she spoke, the magic about her reaching and pulling for more information. “, and he knows he is alone. Human, yes? I feel his fleeting life and flashing feelings like a river . . . a river in which your heart could down in. It is good you have come to me, less he pull her out to the sea and far from solaced shores.”

Love moved to turn away from Solas, a pale hand moving out to stroke the air, ripples lashing into the air like a stone skipping water. Her glowing eyes shut as the ripples floated her from, feeling then and reading them over as they returned. “You are correct in this not being an easy task, in fact . . . it may be nearly impossible. He is . . . marked. Another force is in play that I . . .cannot dismiss, cannot surpass – strong, deep, and . . . violent.” At that a mild ringing filled the air, stinging Solas’s senses slightly, the Matchmaker drawing back into herself; both beings unnerved by it’s tones. Whatever that presence was did not belong in alignment with love. 

“ . . . That said, there are a few lingering heats here; people who want to be loved. One stands out brighter than any pyre. . . She is young, she is fair, and she is bound to your vhenan in more ways than one.” And with a mist of fire from the spirit’s palm came an image, the reflection of Seraphina - Lyra Lavellan. “In this child I feel the ache of ages, the hurt of betrayal, and the sharpness of an arrow. Tell me of her, she is not connected to the fade in a way I can understand . . .”

Solas rebuked the image of Lyra in his dream. The woman, in short, was opposite of all Seraphina was. Rude, pushy, loud, tough, street smart, stuck in a shadow, and always bitter to Solas; the perfect Dalish drone, a dot in the masses that only shown because she shared the same face as Seraphina. How could it be that someone who shared so much with Seraphina could be someone so utterly different?

He shook his head. Consulting with the spirits had never been a wise idea - they were fickle creatures despite their infrequent good intentions. No, she had asked for aid with Cullen, not her sister. He pressed the Matchmaker for answers.

“Seraphina was quite clear in helping the Commander. Pray tell, what is it that plagues him so? How can we solve his troubles? It would please ma sa’lath to know, I am sure.” He paced to the far balcony to look in the direction of Cullen’s tower. Although he would not be there in this dream, he wondered at the repressed concerns of the ex-Templar.

“This Commander, and this Archer, share more in common than they would let on.” The Matchmaker, no matter what negative feelings stirred in Solas’s mind, never seemed swayed; getting to her point with laced words and hidden meanings – as most spirits did. “More then you see, my lost one. You know well it feels to be broken, your image distorted and used for ruin – they sing the same songs deep inside.” 

She followed Solas to the balcony, feet floating above the ground and looming over him like a cloud. Love pointed to the barracks, where Lyra would be sleeping. The girl has been told that she is different, Dalish, wild, and fearful by those who not know better. Her hide and mind have grown hard, only cracking now that her reflection has been accepted by society. Deeply she wishes to be her sister, loved and awed by all; chosen by the wolf’s mark. She wished to be more.” 

Her gaze traveled to the tower not far away, the domain of the Freleden lion. “The same tune is repeated in the man, matching melody, but different tone. From youth he wished to be great, told he was meant to protect, to safeguard, to follow – but his own version of reality became distorted when the demons came, even more so when the madness of Meredith let the chained streets run red. He to wishes for be more.”

“Both are struggling and striving for someone to notice them. . . save them.”  
The Matchmaker’s hands went for Solas’s jaw, tenderly petting there with a motherly glow set in her expression. “A Lone wolf is no good without a pack to call their own. They will form their own pact and lick each other’s wounds. Losing Wisdom taught you that sorrow dealt with alone is an empty state, your woman let you know you are never alone. Think on the relief you felt as she took your burden, even if only for a moment . . . . now . . . can you see?” Love placed a small kiss upon Solas’s forehead before pulling away, looking to Cullen’s tower in the distance.

“The arrow will find her mark in the man’s armor, breaking through to his heart – where both will find love. I shall see it done, for you, Dread Wolf. A warning however . . . .” As she spoke the ringing had returned, making the edges of Solas’s dream quake and blur most uncomfortably; her voice echoing in a grimmer note. “Should ever your vhenan ever lose her reflection . . . his river will sweep her away. Such is the price for their bond. ‘Tis all I can do for your lover’s request.” Cryptic, even as the spirit smiled so sweetly.

Solas closed his eyes and took a deep breath. The Matchmaker always had its price - never unfair, but always a commitment. Love, after all, was not a fleeting promise. He had told Seraphina he loved her, this the Matchmaker saw, and it would capitalize on his promise. He reflected on the unchanging state of the Fade; of the ethereal power that drew her here, the misty air that twirled around him, the false sunlight and the Black City almost hidden from view. He gripped the railing, nails digging into the stone but not feeling the pressure against his fingertips. He could not return to her without an answer, he could not leave her with more heartbreak than she would soon endure. Yet to agree would be to understand that he would stay, that he would forsake everything he believed in. 

It was a troublesome arrangement.

“You understand what I must do, Matchmaker, you see how my hurt hounds at me. How I have to right the wrongs I have committed, and must do so alone. You are asking me to leave everything I am behind. That is not an easy price for one such as I.”

As he spoke he heard his own voice shaking. He had not realized just how emotional he had become over this topic. He had not realized how much both halves of his heart meant to him. One half clung to him like hot resin burned with rage and anguish. The other was soft, serene, purifying. He knew he would be consumed by one or the other. But how could he not choose her? How could go from one day to the next without her smile? He knew he had already made his choice, but he was uneasy. His mind did not walk the same paths as his emotions.

“Every Scarred Soldier seeks a home to rest, no matter what end their path leads.” The Matchmaker came to finally set her feet to the ground, her magic sparking softly as shadow skin made contact to the fake concrete. Her arms came up to Solas’s back and neck, gentle petting and stroking along his spine to try and reassure him. “You drew disaster to yourself with that first kiss, when you sought to free them, when you let me in, and when she touched the orb . . . there is no turning away from what you face. On any front love will find you, it shall bind you, and all you and anyone can do is hold on.” 

The spirits voice began to morph and shift slightly, becoming more and more familiar as Solas listened. Soft, delicate, a tone that held affections and secrets. “This shared fate is with all who come across the wolf’s tracks, your tracks. The Dalish will trip and fall, the Commander will cry, and your heart will ache for all time . . . . a beautiful chaos. And yet,” That was when Love, with the face of Seraphina, came up to kiss at Solas’s jawline; fiery breath rushing over his skin as if it were a real flame. He flinched slightly at the burn. “, there is beauty in a fire. You will burn, the world will burn, and yet love remains. You can run, you can hide, and even this Lyra and Cullen can deny what is in their hearts – but love will always find you. You and your wrecked heart.”

the Matchmaker, Love, Seraphina turned away from Solas, long black hair flowing as she went to stand on the edge of the balcony; looking outwards to the black city high above. She smiled, closed her eyes, and let her foot take a step away from safety. “Love may fall, but it is never dead. No matter what happens, I will be there for you all . . . sleep well, old friend. Sleep and awake in her arms with an answer. Either way, her flame will never dim for you.”

The Matchmaker was right. Of course it was. How many centuries had it listened to the hearts of the lonely, whispered in the ears of the unrequited? It would endure, as would he. He could feel the tickling of Love’s kiss long after she had departed, the ghost of Seraphina lingering. He chose not to seek his heart out, letting her rest in whatever dream she had conjured herself. Instead he paced once more, thinking over the words the Matchmaker had spoken. 

He knew he had already given his answer, his heart belonged to Seraphina and there was not removing it from her without destroying them both. No matter what came, he would make this real for them, and that began with her plea for Cullen and Love’s wish for Lyra. 

With a heavy mind Solas made his way back to the gardens of Skyhold and settled in the spot in which he had arrived, meditating deep until he awoke under a starry sky.

**. . .**

The morning came swiftly, and with the rushing of Skyhold’s forces. The Blacksmiths were pounding at metal, the couriers running about with ringing bells, maids and help bustling with busy words, all creating a ringing of tunes throughout the fortress; alive and well for a new day. Bards and Nobles spread gossip and music in the halls of the throne room, echoing their words like a welcoming wind to all.  
Even the inner circle seemed to be busy today, various members teaming up to complete tasks - like patching the roof or breaking in more mounts for the Inquisition's soldiers to ride. And at the head of every undertaking was the Inquisitor, giving orders with wide smiles and tendered patience.

The dream Seraphina had last night was glorious, already setting her in a good mood. The sun was bright, the weather clear, and Skyhold’s main hall was finally looking in decent condition; the skeletal frames of construction taking up along the long room. This progress made her heart even more gidy, pride in every new addition to the ancient Fortress. This place was her’s now, a place to plant her seeds and watch ideas grow. And all of this would not have happened if not for a certain Elven apostate, one she was rushing her way to; little heels clicking loudly as she went to seek him out. 

Solas emerged from the garden entrance into the main hall to see a small elven tornado heading his way. She was all flowing hair, quick legs and toothy smiles today, and he surmised that the Matchmaker had visited more than just himself the night before. He patted down his woollen vest, lightly soiled from tending to the herbs he grew for his meditative incense, unsure of the purpose that lay behind her eyes.

He spoke first. “Good morning, vhenan.” Solas called to her, watching her slow as she came within earshot of him. “How did you find your sleep?”He gave a flicker of a smile, the corner of his mouth tilting slightly upward, giving little away. 

As stern he may appear in his mortal guise, he was still partial to the odd round of white lies and pleasant trickery. In her current mood, she may even reciprocate, and it had been so long since he had japed with someone of sufficient wit. Solas toyed with the cloth bag of cut plants in his hands as he waited for her to catch her breath, the delicate floral sap perfuming the air around them.

“Good Morning to you as well, hahren!” In her hurried present Seraphina went to hug Solas, letting the few around them see her public display of affection with an open end. Greedily Solas reciprocated, holding her shoulders with one arm and placed a small kiss upon her forehead. “A-And I found sleep not long after I found my pillow. Sera decided to try and prank me by removing it from my bed.” She smirked “I got her back this morning over breakfast.” 

Her teal and gold eyes went to look up at Solas, kissing his chin before letting the elf have his space again. “Let her try again, lest I let The Iron Bull plan my next come-back-trick against her. Heh.”

Seraphina’s eyes went to down to Solas’s bag of planets, eyeing at them with a mild ping of curiosity and mischief. “ . . . You left my rose buds alone, I hope? They grow wild for a reason, no need to go chopping off their bugs just because they get all territorial with your her-OH! D-Did you . . .” Seraphina cut herself off at that, thinking twice before blurting out her net line of thought. 

Solas tilted his head at her pause, uncommon in her usual ranting nature. “Inquisitor?”

“ . . . Come Hahren, I wish to know of your own dreams.” With another smirk Seraphina looped her hand around Solas’s belt, pulling and leading him back to his rotunda. Seraphina hoped Solas had news from the Matchmaker spirit, something to make her day even better.

. . .

Meanwhile another elf was set in a rather high mood, but for different reasons.

All Through breakfast Lyra could not take her eyes of the Shemlen with the pretty hair, and she could have sworn he was watching her to; but both never meet eye-to-eye. It made for an awkward breakfast.

She had spoken to Commander Rutherford a few times before, mild debates of philosophy and religion, and even a friendly heated chess game - but she had never been troubled to ask for his first name. It was bothering Lyra to no end . . . she had to know his name!

The first stop on the odd quest was Seraphina’s quarters, calling and looking about for her twin. Not there. Oh great - Seraphina must have been with him. Neither of them was going to let her down for this.

**. . .**

Solas allowed Seraphina to wait and watch beside himself as he set his herbs to a small drying rack. He knew by now not to touch the Inquisitor’s roses, though he regretted telling her the true reason for his cutting them before. Rose water was lauded for its pleasing aroma, and made fantastic confectionary. He had been teaching the kitchen staff it’s uses in the baking of frilly cakes. Imagine the delight on his vhenan’s face when dessert would be homemade Orlesian petit fours!

He grinned to himself whilst she couldn't see his face, before regaining his composure and seating himself on the cathedra beside the drying rack; back relaxed and leg crossed over one knee. He gestured for Seraphina to join him, she obeyed and moved to lean against, urging her to press more as he Gathered his arms about her. It felt at times that Seraphina was afraid to put her whole weight against him him, a bad habit Solas was attempting to break. 

They settled together with shared blushes, His fingers tracing the curve of her shoulder as he spoke. “Now, you asked of my dreams? I did indeed find the Matchmaker in the Fade last night; she seems particularly fond of you. I had not realized just how far your . . . light, your spirit, shines beyond the Veil. She has told me there is one who would reciprocate the Commander’s unrequited passion, one not unlike yourself.” 

He retracted his fingers at the sound of a hand upon the door handle. Whoever stood behind it knew to hide their movements - a trained and skilled hunter. One cannot hide their scent from a Wolf, however. He had sensed Lyra several moments earlier. He straightened himself in the seat just as the door opened, revealing himself correct. Seraphina’s twin stood at the doorway, turning to meet them with a rather perplexing expression on her face . . . 

. . . And there was her usual glare, set right on Solas. Lyra seemed to have interrupt a rather touching scene, the only evidence needed being the blush spreading over Seraphina’s face. If there was any touching however coming from the flat ear, Lyra would have his fingers. Her gloved nails dug at the door, stubborn gaze breaking away from the bald male to look at Seraphina. “Sister, might I have a word?”

“Erm-” Seraphina didn’t want to go, not really, not after how Solas made her skin tingle with just the touch of his fingertips. “O-Of course Sister. W-Would you like a sea-”

“Alone.” Lyra was having none of Solas today. She had gotten enough of him already when Seraphina requested her family and Solas dinned together; and that was for only one night. The tone of her voice was not caught on by Seraphina, which made this all the worse.

“A-Alone? . . . I-I think this is as good as any place, for I am never truly alone.” Seraphina gave a light chuckle, feeling the truth of her word’s pulling at that sentence harder than she wished. It was true, the Inquisitor was never alone – either on missions with her companions, going over meetings with the advisors, or spending time with Solas. Even in her dreams Seraphina was rarely alone. “S-Surely Solas doesn’t mi-”

Lyra sighed through her nose, a rough and angered sound; foot tapping and eyes averting to the floor as she . . . began to blush? She wanted to know his damn name, and yet she just couldn’t . . .blurt it out! How could one of the people ever feel . . . something . . .for a Shemlen! Off all the men, why him? The only way this would be worse if Lyra had these feelings for the flat ear. Disgusting. It sent shivers up her spine, making the blush get even worse as it started to hue her ears.

Seraphina had never seen Lyra like this, and it set her on edge greatly. The Inquisitor rose slightly, aiming to move over to her Sister, but then . . . it finally hit her. Seraphina sent wide eyes at Solas, then Lyra, then at Solas again; silently mouthing a question. 

_‘The Matchmaker chose Lyra?’_

Solas nodded with a tiny sigh.

The spirit matched HER with Cullen? Lyra . . . with Cullen? Well, it did explain a little about the meetings Seraphina saw between the two before, but it all left a rather . . . unsettling feeling in her heart; eyebrows creasing together as she quickly attempted to work out the logic.

Apparently the silence was too long for Lyra, blurting out her question like a feral dog barking at a moon. “You’re Shemlen Commander - the tall, lanky, awkward, blonde one . . . w-what is his name?” Lyra’s back was turned away from the other to elves, arms crossed.

“His name? . . . You mean you haven't -”

“For Creator’s sake-can you just give me his name!? The quicker I get my answer the quicker you can get back to smooching your flat ear.”

Solas raised himself from the chair, pacing forward to interject. Solas did not take kindly to jibes from people who believed they knew the way of things, much less those who would impose in space to do so. The Matchmaker may have directed her affections to the Commander, but hadn’t spared the opportunity to make her personality more amenable. 

“The man’s name is Cullen.” He addressed to Lyra, who swung to meet him at her full height; the two exchanging dark looks. Sadly, it was not enough to deter the mage, who looked down upon the twin sisters with disdain and respect apportioned to each of them. “I am afraid, however, you will not find him here. I would suggest returning from whence you came, Lyra.”

The way he said her name was laced with a sweet venom, hidden well enough from Seraphina’s ears to refrain from upsetting her whilst ringing his message to her twin; loud and clear. He would make no gesture of dislike while Seraphina was present, but he would also not tolerate Lyra’s immature attitude towards her sister and the world at large.

The spiteful one of the twins gave an impish smirk, not hiding her attitude at all; so very unlike Solas. Lyra never liked to play games and bounce about words. “The same could be said for you, flat ear. Seraphina.” With that Lyra took her leave, bowing to her twin before that black pony tail whipped around quickly while turning away; those long black locks literally almost smacking Solas in the face. The tips gave a lite crack at his nose, a small whoosh of air was all she left behind.

Seraphina on the other hand was left with mild confusion over the whole ordeal.

Why the Matchmaker chose Lyra instead of . . . well . . . anyone but Lyra? She was so harsh to others, humans one in a crowd to aim her attitude, but still! Dread Wolf’s sake, even Cassandra would have been a better choice! 

“ . . . For someone that shares my face, we share little else in common. Why her?” The Inquisitor repeated her internal question out loud, pacing softly. “Surely not because we look- . . . .Oh no.” Her hands went to cover her feathers, ears lowering. Now she knew why this had unsettled her in the first moments of discovery! “D-Did the Matchmaker Lyra b-because we look alike?! Oh, that . . .that is not healthy. S-Solas, I-Oh no, oh no! Dread Wolf take me now!”

Solas chuckled, pulling Seraphina into a soft embrace. “The Matchmaker does not always reveal her reason, vhenan, but she cannot force love where it is not welcome. She merely encourages thoughts that had been dormant or ignored. As for your sister’s charming personality, I’m sure that the Commander will find something of note.” 

Solas smiled into Seraphina’s hair as he nuzzles her, his memories the conversation echoing between his ears. He could not undo what had begun now, it would just have to run its course. Whether this meant Lyra would be spending more time at the Keep remained to be seen. 

He slipped a hand around Seraphina’s waist and guided her toward the door to the battlements. “I would prefer some fresh air, care to join me?”

“You? fresh air? Perish the thought,” Seraphina gave a light chuckle into Solas’s collarbone, her voice hiding in his warm woven shirt. “, of dragging you outside to meet the day! Dare I say yes, as to draw you away from your books, and notes, a-and your sleeping? Hm . . . Lead on, ma’arLath.” In a small shift of their bodies their arms looped together, Solas keeping her his side as they walked along.

Seraphina could not help but think on how comfortable she felt with Solas, and how maybe the reason why Lyra was seeking Cullen was for her own comfort? Something safe, something new, something . . . comfortable. Creators knew Lyra needed something safe in her life, given what happened so many years ago . . .

**. . .**

Lyra had her answer and wanted to get away from that man as soon as possible . . . he was to . . . much. Solas was too much. It was like touching ice, but instead of freezing the sensation was that of fire. It made her hair stand on end, stomach quake, and her anger rise to such highs that it almost made the archer sick to her stomach.

Lyra jested to herself,thinking it would do her some good to seek medical herbs from a healer here so she could stomach looking upon Solas; as if he were so disgusting to cause nausea. In reality though Lyra really did try to stomach the man, not for his sake . . .but for Seraphina’s. Lyra was not lame, she saw the look in her twin’s eyes as she and Solas exchanged looks. Their bond was poetitant and Lyra would need something at least that powerful, if not more, in order to settle herself.

Maybe Cullen . . .would do the trick, but he seemed so dull at times; nothing like the lithe, Dalish lovers she had before. Either way she was going to speak to the man for a while, name in hand, to see if this need in the back of her head would dissipate.

It didn’t take long for Lyra to end up at Commander’s door, listening to the muffled voice of the man within; her eyes set on a hard stare, as if she could see through the wood. 

Should she?

Could she?

She wanted to, and yet . . . With a deep breath of air Lyra went to open the door and slipped inside. There was no stopping now what had been set in motion, and those all involved were just along for the ride by now.


	5. Ir Abelas

Several weeks had passed since The Matchmaker had planted the seeds of interest within Commander Cullen and Lyra Lavellan, and the growth was remarkable! It was a subtle change at first, nothing to take note or watch daily for updates, but before long it become interesting gossip. The Human and elf had been seen kissing upon the battlements in a rather passionate way, the broadness of the man made the tiny elf barely able to be seen, save pale thin hands they went to his neck; gripping his plumage with a greedy hold. 

To Mattron however, it was more than gossip. Indeed he had more insight on this new union than any other . . . for Cullen had done the proper thing and asked the elder Brother if he was given blessing to court Lyra. It was more of a Human tradition to ask parental figures for permission, not Elven, but Mattron found respect for Cullen in that regard. He had given the human his blessing and had been watching the affection bloom with each date. They were a tender and hesitant coupling, which made the male elf humble and proud. Lyra was taking a huge risk in Cullen, but his trust seemed well placed thus far . . .

On the other hand of his family, Mattron had not received any notice that Seraphina and Solas were an item, not even from her own lips. Indeed neither she nor Solas came to seek his blessing over their own passions, which made the man feel . . . a bit slighted. He had been raised to give those not of the people a bit of wiggle room, seeing as how his own Father was not born to a clan, and yet it still irritated Mattron that Solas did not even care to seek out how Seraphina’s Father figure would have felt.

That was going to be corrected, a marching Mattron on the move to visit Solas.

The warrior entered the rotunda with light boot steps, soft leather almost as gentle as silken slippers. He bowed and spoke with a deep voice; deeper than any elf in this age. “Master Solas, might I have a word?”

Solas had been poring over a rather interesting text he had pilfered from Dorian’s collection, one he was certain would not be missed for the brief time the elf required it, when he heard the address to himself. He paused in his reading and walking, turning to look upon Seraphina’s older brother. This required further attention. 

Solas slipped a crop of suede between the leafy pages of the book, seating it delicately on the empty space in the centre of the desk. He noted how Mattron had his head bowed low, respectfully, something that Solas had not come to expect of the Dalish. Of course, he had not expected Seraphina, either. 

He stepped around the chair to face him, returning the bow, though not as low as the Dalish elf had done. “Master Mattron, to what do I owe the pleasure of your company?” He asked, thinking it better to remain polite to the man who had raised the Inquisitor.

“A mere talk, as it were. Please sit if you wish.” Mattron smiled and walked towards Solas, his hands held behind his back. Mattron was as handsome as he was smart, a comment Dorian had made on many occasions. Whatever brought the Dalish to Solas was of no small thing, for Mattron talked very little to others at Skyhold less it was something important.

He cleared his throat and towered over Solas, about the height of Cullen; a rare shape for an elf. “I am very thankful to have you here, Master Solas. You have given the Inquisition the ways of the Elvhen, if only in the most slightest of flavors. Also in your studies with Seraphina . . . I see your influence. Her words are detailed with the fade and spirits, bordering on what many would see as . . . orthodox.” Mattron smiled. 

“That said however, there is a new push for change and I cannot thank you enough for what you are doing for the people.” Mattron was starting to circle the table, dark blue eyes set at the odds-and-ends festering its surfaces; books and writings and other things. Some he recognized, and some he didn’t. “ . . . She speaks fondly of you.”

With a rather dark twist of his voice Mattron set his gaze back to Solas, narrowing his point. “And yet you do not reciprocate your emotions outward as she does. Indeed, you seem to keep to yourself and at times to be a selfish hermit, content in your life of solitude; in spite what Seraphina preached of you to me. She makes you out to be a man of honor and wisdom . . . and yet you deny her even the satisfaction of public romance? Tell me, do you intend to dote upon my sister in such a fashion? She is a bright and young thing, a flower lost in winter, and I would hate to uproot her from soil that brings her pleasure. Even if that Soil can easily become a landslide . . . .”

The hairs at the nape of Solas’ neck raised as Mattron spoke, eyes never leaving him as the Dalish elf circled the table. He moved as though a predator, the shadow of the wolf cloaked him as he stalked toward Solas. In a past life, he would have valued such an elf working below him. He would have made an excellent warrior. 

Solas chose not to sit, instead remaining where he stood, drawing himself to his full height, matching Mattron’s own. olas laced his arms behind his back, deliberating over an answer to the man’s queries. After some time, and with a few more paces around the room from his guest, Solas finally spoke.

“Seraphina is the leader of the Inquisition, the so-called ‘Herald of Andraste’. Do you understand what such a title means, Mattron?” He paused for a couple of moments, waiting for some speech from the man, but none came. Solas glided toward the table, picking up a book with the Inquisition’s seal stamped on the cover.

“Believe me when I say I consider only her best interests in everything I do. To make the nature of our relationship known would provide a distraction and sow discord among her forces, her followers, her worshippers. What would they make of Andraste’s chosen taking an Elven apostate for her lover? It would shatter the very foundations of her Order.”

“Do not assume that I do not care for your sister, Mattron. Do not fool yourself into thinking she is a mere dalliance to me. Any further questions should be laid at her feet, not mine. She is a woman of substantial power, and she should be respected as such.” Solas laid the book back onto the table, displaying it so that the sigil could be seen plainly. Whatever personal reasons Solas had for his lack of intimacy, whether it be for her sake or his, they remained the business of he and his vhenan; not her brother’s nor anyone else about the castle.

“ . . . I would assume a man of your standing would not care what any Human worshipers would care, but I see now that I misjudged you. You are not of the Dalish . . . and for that I am also thankful for.” Mattron bowed his head again, eyes closed, and humbled once more. If Solas were a true Dalish, the mage would not care any for what human’s thought or felt, would answer to no Shemlen, and live freely with even scorn for those who would get in his way. Not saying Solas wasn’t like that in any aspect, but the un-marked man was more tempered and thoughtful about his options.

Mattron wished Lyra could learn from one such as Solas . . .and perhaps in time she would; given her own dalliance with the Human Commander.

“My Sister does well in your care, and I pray to Mythal you keep her such. Your words, and the way you look at her when no one is watching,” Mattron raises his head. giving a small playful smirk at that comment; a friendly chuckle following after. “, brings my nerves to great ease. Now, should you-” The Warrior’s ears perked up as another figure entered the room. 

Seraphina. She looked like Death, not the glowing warm woman from this morning. No – her skin was almost sickly green, once vibrant eyes wide with shock, plump lips tinged purple, and ears flat against her head. She was far too many hours ahead of schedule to be done with her meeting with the Advisers. Her gaze moved up slowly to Solas, and then Mattron, trying to find words. But there were none. Her soul felt empty, magic felt drained, and the world bleak. “S . . . Mn . . .I . . .”

The moment Solas saw her felt like an eternity. The woman stood before him, clutching a report in her shaking hands, fingernails raking into the ink-scribed parchment. Too shocked to cry, she simply stood and stared at the two elven men. He was at a loss, every cell in his body was screaming to go to her - to pull her aside and ask her quietly what was wrong. Was she hurt, did she feel sick, how could he help? 

But all Solas’s body could manage for a few seconds was to stare, calculating the myriad movements and the emotional risks involved. After all, he was still unsure of how much of their relationship he was willing to display, as reserved as he could be. He also did not wish to cause a scene for the Inquisitor, whom he was sure was about to pass out from the news held between her palms.

Finally logic gave way and reason parted, Solas going toward Seraphina with arms outstretched; immediately guided her to sit at his chaise. She did not so much sit as slump, tears slowly beginning to form at the corners of her eyelids, her lower lip wobbling in that tell-tale way. 

He did not need to read the paper to know the news. He had felt this level of loss before. Without a word he took her hand in his, his eyes locked to her own, speaking without sound for his sorrow, for his compassion. “Seraphina? What . . .what is wrong?” 

As Solas aided the Inquisitor to the chair Mattron felt . . . rather helpless. He had never seen Seraphina like this, for she was the sun in the sky to which kept all clouds away. She was the splash of water to a thirsty flower, yeast to dough to help it rise, and all the stars that twinkled even in the darkest of nights. This was so unlike her, so unnatural and wayward . . . was it the piece of paper she held in her hand? Had to have been, there was little else that Mattron knew about that could bring on such despair. He was kneeling at Seraphina’s heel, ears lowering as each second ticked by. When she did not answer Mattron spoke once more. “Seraphina, tell us what-”

“They’re gone.” Her voice was half between emotionless and an explosion; a dormant mountain ready to burst into a volcano. Her eyes moved away from Solas to her brother, the tears unable to stop. “They . . . they are all . . .”

“Who . . . who is gone? Da’vehnan, I don’t-” It was when his sister handed him elder the report, his large hands moving to grip the parchment. Sadly he did not ready Human script all that well, putting most of his education into either fighting styles or parental techniques, but what he could read became so clear. To clear. He to felt sick, a breath caught in his throat and looked away; the report slipping form gloved fingers to land on the floor.

Clan Lavellan was no more. They were all dead. Whipped out by humans and their paranoia. Unlike Seraphina, Mattron found no tears or more to the truth . . . he did not want to show his grief; turning his back to both other elves and hiding his face in one of his hands. 

The Keeper, his troops, his friends, and their mother . . . all gone? This was their fate? Did those humans truly think of elven life in such wasteful fancy? In his absence of words only a hard shake of barely controlled anger remained, racking in his body like an earthquake. He was too far gone in the moment to try and be of any help.

Solas’s face gave none of his internal panic away, remaining as stoic as ever, eyeing up Mattron in case he seemed unsuitably interested in the Inquisitor’s grief. Still he was at a loss for a possible solution to Seraphina’s situation. In his younger life Solas had done terrible things; he had brandished his power as though it were a mere toy, destroying entire cities in his fits of rage. In his sorrow he had left an entire civilization devoid of its leaders, ultimately ruining the world as it should have been. What could he possibly say or do to ease her suffering when he hadn’t resolved his own? 

Seraphina could do little but sit there, eyes now to the ground as the maddening words flashed in her head. 

This was . . . her fault. 

Had she never been sent to the conclave, had she never survived the blast, been touched by that orb, saved at Haven, made Inquisitor and had attention brought to Clan Lavellan . . . they would still be alive. It was all her . . . no . . . no it was not her fault. 

It wasn’t her fault! 

The shift to sadness to rage was quick, eyebrows creasing heavier than any scowl Cassandra could ever manage. The hand which Solas held begun to burn, at first a only mild sensation of tingling heat, but then a real fire sparking at her knuckles and nails; whips of her wild ebony hair waving about in the waves of the fire forming in her hands.

Keeper Deshanna had always said if Seraphina had never gotten the markings of Ghilan'nain, Goddess of Halla, that Seraphina would bare those vallaslin of Elger’nan, and God of Vengeance. It was a power and deep rooted need of protection that drove Seraphina to . . . hurt those boys, all that long ago- and the Keeper had done her best to help. But in the end . . . that seed was still there, It was always there. 

Seraphina had done her best to cover that seed up with a better garden, a garden of love and happiness and compassion, but now . . . no, she felt it again; and that was what made her feel even more sick. All that hard work Keeper Deshanna had done was for naught, she died for naught!

They all died in the end for nothing!

Solas’s mind returned to Seraphina when he felt the burning heat coursing through his palm and up his veins. Without much thought he was able to quell the singed skin, dampening the physical effects of her spell with sympathetic magic. He waited silently, patiently, in hopes that she would tire herself out before her anger was fueled any further . . .and to that end she did; passing out in his arms moments later.

Mattron and Solas exchanged some final words before splitting off from one another, the Mage holding Seraphina tight to his chest as he carried her up to her chambers. He tucked her into his side as they lay together upon her bed, easing into her consciousness and dreams to try and ease her unconscious suffering. Solas spoke in whispers, his lips pressed to her damp forehead; speaking away the fever that set in. “Ir abelas, ma Vhenan. Hamin, hamin . . .”

**. . .**

The rest of that eve, and the morning to follow, were as one would expect for the Inquisitor. Miserable. The only comfort she found was in her dreams, and even those were bittersweet; filled with images of her smiling Keeper and the others now gone. They were lost when the very first hues of morning light touched the horizon, peeking just barely over the Mountains around Skyhold.

Red at night, sailor’s delight. Red in the morning, sailor’s warning. The sky could not be any more grim unless blood was splashed into it’s shivering fog. Already a foreboding start.

Seraphina’s tired gazed moved away from her window’s down to her blankets and pillows. She had not even remembered walking to bed . . . . did Solas carry her here? The Inquisitor looked to her side, seeing if she had a bed partner. But alas, Solas was not there; her love being an early riser. Perhaps he went to make her some tea, or herbal remedy - Solas was always good for something warm and helpful to drink, despite his disdain for the stuff.

Seraphina’s guess was not far off, the male lingering over a cup of steaming brown water; filled with a salty and bitter concoction to help his pounding head. He had not slept well that night as well, and what little time he had spent in the Fade had been consumed by spirits clamoring to observe the Inquisitor’s bereavement; her dreams twisting and turning through memories he could not ignore. He had remained on the outskirts, watched from a distance to keep her safe. 

Solas headed out to the gardens again to collect another batch of similar herbs used in his drink, in the goal to make his vhenan the same brew, spying Seraphina high above on her balcony; the chill wind playing with her hair. He was distracted for a moment by the sound of yelling coming from the stables, and when he looked back Seraphina was gone; drawn back into her room, to hide away from the sun that greeted her beauty.

A small smile broke to Solas’s expression as a thought flashed into his mind. Seraphina did always like to see his notes and sketches, and he had recently drawn some of her own blooming buds in a bout of inspiration - something new the Inquisitor hadn’t seen yet. Perhaps in some small way, it would help ease her pain . . . He plucked one of the dew-dropped flowers and went back inside.

With the extra cup in one hand and, the gathered charcoals and papers in the other, Solas aimed to head back to Seraphina. It was to be only a small gesture, but he supposed any distraction would be a welcome one for her.

**. . .**

Meanwhile, as many were still asleep, another soul was about as well. This elf hadn’t even slept a little, awake with anger and fury that could not be contained; not even by her caring Commander. Ever since she learned from Mattron the fate of Clan Lavellan, Lyra was set ablaze with a terrifying chill, echoes only left in her mind as she attempted to come to grips with the sudden loss.

It didn’t end well. The horse was saddled, weapon and armor ready, galloping towards the Gates.

**. . .**

Cole did not sleep, He didn’t need to; besides, there were pressing matters that kept the spirit contentive. The pain was to great, hurting all over the place with the siblings. Each was dealing with it in their own way, but Lyra’s way was only going to cause more suffering.

Blood and bone, snapping and clashing. She had to be stopped. 

First Cole went to Cullen, waking him to inform the human that his elven counterpart was going, bursting away before the Commander could demand more. Next came Seraphina, manifesting to her doorway and knocking loudly. She opened it moment’s later, greeted with his broken language.

The odd boy was made odder by his quickened words and way of phrasing. He seemed distressed, perhaps a bit more then herself at that moment. Seraphina had Cole catch his breath and start over . . . . greatly wishing she hadn’t once she learned what was transpiring that very second; the regret mixing with the anxiety and sorrow from yesterday. Cole did not want to leave the Inquisitor’s side, knowing what wild emotions were soaring in her mind and heart, but another was in need – and Solas was on his way anyways; capable in helping Seraphina more than Cole ever could.

Lyra needed Cole’s help more than anyone. By the time Seraphina was on the bottom step of the first turn within her tower Cole was gone, appearing before Lyra and her hose. He held out his hands from side to side, faing a brace for the charging animal to hit him. But it never did, for Lyra pulled hard on the reins and took a sharp turn; the horse coming to a whining halt and skitter.

**. . .**

Cullen was looking over the battlements and down at Skyhold’s bridge and gate, seeing Lyra and Cole having what appeared to be a heated argument; the elf’s eyes wide and hands on her bow and arrow. He had to get down there! He . . . he couldn’t lose another person dear to him, not again!

**. . .**

Seraphina was in tears again - her magic ecstatic with a mix of fear and urgency, it’s power seeping so quickly and so suddenly into Skyhold’s very stone that even Dorian and Vivienne were woken by the abnormal pulses. The anchor was painfully burning, only adding more stinging to her shocked body and the bitterness of the cold air.

Solas could see her aura pulsing in the tower above him, long before her body revealed itself. It was a silent wave the crashed over the bannisters and poured onto the ground before him, searing salty pain that struck him to the core, shaking the Veil itself. Her loss was stronger now than last night, and his chances of maintaining any control over her were slim if she were to continue her train of thought; like a breathable poison that would make the hair’s on the back of his neck stand erect. He waited patiently for her to descend the stairs, pulling at the cuffs of his shirt. 

He had felt Cole’s presence flitting about the castle since the early hours, pulling this way and that, trying to keep together the fractures in the Lavellan siblings’ states of mind. Solas closed his eyes for a moment to focus, feeling a commotion in the direction of the gates, where he had previously heard the shouting. 

Something in Solas’s gut told him that Lyra was responsible for the outburst, her characteristic anger rippling about the veil. Her hot-headedness would insist on causing more trouble than was necessary.

**. . .**

Seraphina had not meant to run into the wall quite that hard, using her magic to try and cause some cushion, but still some skin was broken; bleeding streaking down her longer arm as it bashed with the stones. She yelped but got up to her feet, moving quickly to open the door that lead out into the throne room.

Seraphina gave another yelp as she meet face to face with Solas, mind to distracted to notice his magical signature sooner. In the darkness of that spot he looked just like a big black blur, adjusting only after she gazed at him for a few moments. “S-Solas . . . . We need to get to Lyra. S-She's going to start a war.”

**. . .**

“Out of my way! Move or I shall-”

“Stupid boy. The odd spirit boy who she keeps as a pet. Can’t run him over, can’t hurt him.” Cole was still blocking Lyra from escaping, not filching once as a shaking arrow was aimed right at his chest. “You won’t hurt me. You’re not like that. You-” the arrow zipped to Cole, knocking his hat off with a flash of sparks and a hard ting.

“I. Said. MOVE.”

“Lyra!” Cullen hadn’t had the time to get all of his armor on, merely cloaking himself in a long sleeping gown, boots, and his padded metal pauldrons. “Lyra, for The Maker’s sake, what are you doing?”

“Fixing your mistake!” Her heated gaze moved to the man, a dark shadow crawling her once beautiful features. “You and your Inquisition let me people die, put to the flame so your goal would be achieved! Y-You . . .You are just like them!” Now tears were in Lyra’s eyes, arrow aimed at Cullen. “You humans, all you do is lie and make excuses – and my people suffer for it! I-It thought . . . I thought you cared.”

“Lyra, I . . .I do care, just please – please disarm. Please.” Cullen’s emotions were already straining after the argument he and Lyra had last night, little sleep found for himself, and he couldn’t barely bare to see her like this. That face, that anger, it reminded him of a younger version of himself; a cold, dreadful feeling building in his heart.

**. . .**

Solas staggered backward as Seraphina blundered into him, too stunned for a moment to take in her demeanor. Almost immediately he noticed the blood trickling down her arm. “Seraphina . . . your arm.” He breathed, instinctively reaching forward to heal it with his free hand. He took a moment to examine her fully, observing her puffy eyes, taut skin, pale complexion.

He pocketed the sketch of her roses, setting the cup down onto a nearby step, and slipped an arm around her body; leading her into the main hall. “What say we find your sister, Inquisitor?” They needed to find Lyra, needed to steady the situation, and try to find peace - if not for everyone’s sake, then just for Seraphina. He had to find any means of keeping her from falling apart completely at this critical stage in their fight against Corypheus, and this was not helping.

Lyra was on the edge of her fate, bow in hand and anger to heart. Should the twin march upon Wycombe, not only would more issues between the Dalish and other peoples come to light, but also with the Free Marchers and the Inquisition. “Y-Yes, she, oh by The Creators, she truly is Andruil’s avatar; stubborn, anger prone, and hell bent on tossing herself into the void. We must stop her!”

**. . .**

“Disarm? Disarm?!” The tautness of her bow and arrow did not let up as the enraged Dalish spoke to Cullen, never faulting in it’s sight. “Did that bastard of a Duke tell my clan the same before his people set slaughter to them all? Men, Women, children all take away in one foul swoop. Innocent blood of the elven was spilled, and what did you do?! NOTHING! Dirthara-ma shemlen!”

“It was not his fault, you know it was not his fault.” Cole was at Cullen’s side now, a hand and arm overlapping in front of the human as if to be ready and push him out of the arrow’s wake; ready to take the shot for the Commander. “You saw him with the rage, with the pain, you know he would never-”

“Ar tu na'lin assa, e-emma shem'nan!” By now Lyra was ready to shoot someone, anyone, something, anything – flesh bleeding and bones breaking; the anger was too much, masked only by the strain of tears pouring down her face. 

She . . . she felt so lost, so betrayed. Betrayed not only by Cullen and the others of the Inquisition, but by the one who she was supposed to have the strongest bond with of all Thedas. Her sister, her twin, the Ghilan'nain to her Andruil.  
. . .

By the time Seraphina and Solas had managed their way outside, down the outer two stair cases, and out to the gates of Skyhold all Seraphina could see was her sister point an arrow right at Cullen . . . and she felt her heart ache and stomach flip; a tearing sensation scouring its way into her very being. “L . . . Lyra, No! Stop this madness! What are you doing?!”

Solas stepped forward to calm the enraged twin. He steeled himself and poured sympathetic magic in the direction of her extended arm. Slowly he watched as her bow lowered. “Lyra, tel’vunin! Felas na’an. Ir abelas, lethallan, ma u’din!” He cried out, catching the attention of the archer and settling the atmosphere if only for the moment. 

“For all our differences, I am sorry. The death of your loved ones was not the fault of our Commander, any more than the loss of our people through the generations. Rest assured that we will find those responsible and they will be dealt with. Honour your clan’s memory, and endure. Na’shiral halam’din.”

He hoped his words would soothe her, though he held reservations and raised a barrier just in case she took a shot. A glance in Cullen’s direction saw the human wishing he had a similar means of protecting himself, as unprepared for a fight as he was. Solas was still keenly aware of Seraphina’s energy behind him, still strong and beating and lost in the sway of her grief.

Lyra’s bow did indeed lower . . . . but it was not in any calm manner. Instead of it fixated upon the Human Commander, it’s tip was pointed towards Solas; merely inches away from piercing his skull. The anger was dulled only slightly in the aftermath of his words, understanding only the important bits of given words; but she would never be as good in the translations as Seraphina.

Seraphina . . . was always the better of them, the smarter and wiser; and it always put Lyra to shame. Seraphina was so much more prettier . . . important . . . powerful . . . special . . .loved and adored by all who meet her. 

And on what grounds? 

Because she was chosen, cursed, put onto a human made throne and left her people to rot! That what Solas had been telling her right? That the Dalish were wrong, that they were children, that they would never understand.

Solas turned Seraphina away from her people. The clan was dead because of Solas’s silver tongue and Seraphina’s naïve heart.

“You . . . .are correct. My Journey is not over . . . .far from in fact. And we know who’s names need to be written in blood upon their own floors. So do not patronize me like I am some unknowing child, flat ear! I am a hunter of Anduril, and the beastly men of this world will understand the power of the elves; come arrow and blade! Your ways have turned my own sister against her people, ‘tis her fault!” 

With a sharp yank the bow was now aimed at Seraphina, the mage in such a shocked state that she did not have the reaction to toss up a shield. “You turned her against me, you made her not care anymore. You took her gaze from her people and towards the sky, the dreams, the fade – all of it! You disgust me, you useless, prideful, welp of a fleshy-OUF!!” The fireball had come so close to Solas’s head that he felt the heat brushing against his ear, the flaming orb hitting Lyra off her horse in a fit of twisted limbs; crying of pain as she fell to the hard ground. 

Seraphina may not have had the time to put up a shield, but fire . . . fire was a easier to summon. It burned, it destroyed, it left marks in ash and scorns. Quick to spark and easily left to consume farmlands. “You will dare not speak to him in such a manner, you reckless fool!” The Inquisitor charged, anchor and fire making slender hands spark alive with red and green magic; lashing about like licking whips.

Cole by now had moved back the startled Cullen to a safe distance, unknowing that in the face of magic there was little an ex-Templar a sprint of compassion, could to do douse it’s destructive power. Suppress maybe, but in this case . . . Lyra needed a lesson; not mercy. Cole had learned by now that some lessons did not take unless shoved into someone’s face. 

Lyra was holding her chest, the fabric and leather smoking from the attack. Her own teal and gold eyes went upwards in fear as Seraphina’s hand came to the back of her neck; gripping with the burning anchor - causing the girl to scream more. But Seraphina’s screams were louder “I am your Keeper now, and I will not see the last of my Clan rush off to meet the same end! You will march yourself back inside, to a cell, and stay put there till I command otherwise! But first . . . . you insulted my heart, and you will apologize to him – Now!” 

Solas knew better then engage the rage of the Inquisitor, stepping back with arms behind his back; looking on with a mix of worry and pride. He waited, steely eyes set on the caught Lyra. By no other members of the Inquisition were gathering, awakened either by their usual routine or by the linger effects of Seraphina’s spilling magic. 

Dorian and Vivienne came first, the others trickling into the edge of the gathering; all waiting in airs for what would come next. Lyra said nothing, seraphina pressed the mark harder into her twin’s flesh; breaking out another painful scream. “Apologize!!” A few of the inner circle seemed taken back by Seraphina’s overcoming voice, others impressed. 

And so the two were locked into each other for what felt like days, Seraphina and Lyra as still as statues. Finally Lyra’s lips parted, painting from the searing pain at her neck; speaking softly. “I . . . Ir abelas.” 

“Again!” The Inquisitor demand. “and louder, for all to hear . . .”

“I-I’m sorry!” Lyra yelled back, the suffering evident in every raspy breath; as if she were about to pass out. “I’m sorry . . . I’m sorry, Solas. I-Ir abelas . . .”

Seraphina looked to her lover, arm finally giving her twin a little bit of slack at his nod. Solas would not accept the apology just yet, the weight of what Lyra had almost done needed to settle with the Dalish a little bit longer. 

As the two shared a knowing nod the Inquisitor called over two guards to take Lyra to the dungeon, giving Cullen permission to walk with them. Seraphina remained there for a little while longer, watching everyone return to their own doings, save Solas; for which she was thankful for remaining. It did not take long for her to pass out again, not before however Solas laiden her with deep kisses and with passionate holdings.

Same as the day before Solas carried the Inquisitor to her room and laid her upon the blankets, making sure she was comfortable before settling down with her. he would not sleep this time, merely bringing up a piece of paper and quill, setting to work on drawing Seraphina as she slept. 

As ink flowed into an image, Solas could not help but let his mind slip into his past talk with The Matchmaker; recalling something she had said. “-there is beauty in a fire.” His love, his dalen, his Seraphina, his Vhenan, was stunningly beautiful even in her terrifyingly powerful inferno.

Seraphina would set this world on fire, and it excited Solas’s darkest desires.


	6. Trees

**Chapter Six - Trees**

_“To Leaders of the Inquisition,_

_Clan Lavellan offers greetings to the Inquisition and wishes it well in sealing the Breach that has opened in the sky. While some Dalish clans hate humans and wish nothing to do with them, Clan Lavellan has always dealt fairly with all and wished only for peace. That said, we have on occasion been forced to defend ourselves from those who saw us only as potential victims._

_It has come to our attention that a member of our clan is being held captive by your Inquisition. She went to the Conclave only to observe the peace talks between your Mages and Templars, and we find it highly unlikely that she intentionally violated your customs. If she has been charged with a crime, we would appreciate hearing of it. If not, it would ease our concerns to hear from her to know that she remains with the Inquisition of her own will._

_We await your reply - Keeper Istimaethorial Lavellan”_

 

Seraphina could not help but smile as she read the letter, carefully tracing over the dried ink; knowing each flick and divot of the script. Her Keeper always did have the most beautiful handwriting . . . 

 

_“Da'len,_

_Andaran atish'an. It does my heart well to hear that you are safe. Our clan was visited by members of the Inquisition who spoke persuasively of the good work you are doing, as well as the fairness with which our kind have been treated by the Inquisition itself.  
You know that Clan Lavellan has little by way of gold, but I gave the messengers some of our healing herbs, as Sylaise blessed us with abundance in our recent foraging. We would be a distraction if we came to the Inquisition itself, our hunters arguing with the humans as they so easily do. Nevertheless, if you need aid, send word, and we are with you._

_Dareth shiral - Keeper Istimaethoriel Lavellan”_

 

Oh, how she wished they would have just come to Skyhold. They could have all been together there, not only just Lyra and Mattron; everyone. The children, the elders, her Mother . . . 

 

_“Ambassador Montilyet,_

_I regret that my help for your Dalish allies came too late to be of use. By the time my forces arrived in the area, the Dalish had been scattered or killed, and there seems little left of their clan._

_I understand your Inquisitor must be feeling the loss of her clan. Please accept these gifts and my promise of future help whenever it is necessary._

_Yours - Duke Antoine of Wycome”_

 

His lies did not work on Leliana, did not sooth the hate in Lyra’s heart nor settle the Inquisitor’s grief. They needed more. Seraphina flipped another page of the collected letters, reading on . . . 

 

_“Nightengale,_

_After investigation, your suspicions were correct: those are bandits in name only. Though they wear no colors, they are mercenaries, bought and paid for by Duke Antoine of Wycome himself. It is unclear what caused Antoine to turn on the Dalish, but he should not be trusted. In public, he fully supports the Inquisition, even pledging gold to our coffers, but he has a private agenda, currently unknown._

_I can continue gathering information, but suspicions in Wycome are high after the bandits ran into trouble, and any sabotage inside the city runs a high risk of detection._

_Jester”_

 

Jester had been timely in his status reports in the face of the lingering chaos. 

 

_“Nightingale,_

_I have new information regarding Duke Antoine of Wycome's move against the Inquisitor's Dalish clan. It appears that Wycome has been experiencing some sort of plague that affects only humans. The duke has kept news of the disease quiet; as his fellow nobles grow louder in their anger, blaming the elves in the alienage for what has been called the "Knife-Eared Plague," Antoine evidently chose to use Clan Lavellan as a scapegoat. His surreptitious move against the Dalish was an attempt to convince his nobles that he was taking action. I feel that I tried harder to get this information information sooner the passing of Clan Lavellan could have been avoidable . . . please give the Inquisitor my personal condolences and deepest regret._

_Suspicions in the city still remain high. But I can gather information, no matter the risk for myself._

_Jester”_

 

When all of this was over, Seraphina wished to meet this “Jester”. Despite the grievous failure, they had tried to every extent of their being to make things right. But Seraphina didn’t wish another to die, their part in the saga over . . .

 

_“Ambassador Montilyet,_

_Duke Antoine has been a most charming and gracious host, and has made himself a friend, indeed, to the Inquisition. His city is a wonder, and he was quite keen to display some of the improvements he has made recently. Of particular note are the wells, which use a red crystal to purify the water from which all humans in the city drink. Duke Antoine has not yet made these improvements to the wells from which the elves in the alienage drink._

_The duke assures me that concerns about some sort of disease affecting his city are wholly overblown, and has quite convinced me that his plans to rid the city of "the rats causing the problem" should be underway quite soon._

_I continue to enjoy my visit to Wycome, and I confess that I hope I do not hear the noisy clatter of the Inquisition's armored troops ruining my quiet afternoons. The elves of Clan Lavellan, by contrast, are quiet, like their poor cousins here in Wycome's alienage, and it might be a welcome change to my daily regime to see them in the future._

_Yours in haste - Lady Guinevere Volant”_

 

Josephine's diplomat had found that the nobles of Wycome were using red lyrium, poisoning people and pointed the blame. typical On Seraphina’s word Cullen sent in forces to the city to stop the madness . . . 

 

_“Commander Cullen,_

_Our forces marched upon Wycome, but even with many of their soldiers weakened by the sickening effects of the red lyrium, they had a significant standing army. The fighting was bloody, and fires started by the battle spread throughout much of the city, costing the lives of many citizens._

_We destroyed the red lyrium, but were forced to retreat after doing so. I recommend the Inquisition withdraw from the area. While reports of our activities scattered and contradictory, it can only hurt the Inquisition's reputation to continue making enemies in the Free Marches._

_Lieutenant Rozzellene Chambreterre”_

 

After that Seraphina had spent many nights awake, tormented by the spilled blood on the Inquisition’s hands. Solas tried to ease her, but it never helped. She had to see the rest of this through till the end, not letting one lost live fade in vain. Seraphina flipped to the next letter . . . 

 

_“Commander Cullen,_

_Our troops came upon the city of Wycome once more, slaying all remaining opposition with great cost to our troops. But that day the Inquisition banner flew proudly. It is good that we preattentively began fortifications, as the Marchers had soldiers ready to invade the city and kill every remaining elf inside. They were not ready to make an enemy of the Inquisition, however, and when they saw our soldiers, they pulled up short._

_The Inquisition diplomat, Lady Guinevere Volant, handled negotiations quite well. When presented with evidence of the red lyrium, which we made clear was an unholy tool of Corypheus himself, the Marchers backed down from their claims of a baseless elven rebellion and pledged to leave Wycome in peace. They have also donated generously to the Inquisition's coffers to make clear their support for our cause._

_The elves have gathered in their alienage for prayer of their lost community members and for Clan Lavellan’s passing. They have sent out an invitation to Inquisition forces and a request for Inquisitor herself to lead the ceremonies. I think it would do the men some good to attend, given the proper permissions from their superiors._

_Lieutenant Rozellene Chambreterre”_

 

And that was the end of it all. Seraphina gathered the letters in order and slipped them back into the leather bindings with great care. She gave a last lingering look at Keeper Istimaethorial’s signature, whipping away the tears before they rain down upon the writing. 

The Inquisitor looked out the carriage’s window and gazed upon Wycome’s silhouette in the distance, standing like a lone and battered soldier upon a sollom hill; filled with the graves of his fallen comrades. Inside the city lay the victims of the bloody battle, buried under saplings of cedars for protection, elms for strength, and cypresses for understanding the duty of sacrifice. Seraphina would plant a seed on the grave of her former Keeper, and from that spot a mighty oak would grow to symbolize wisdom found in strength. It would become rare child of nature in a foreign land, its origins beginning in Brecilian Forest of Ferelden; oddly symbolic for how the Dalish themselves were displaced. 

Seraphina’s entagrauige consited of Lyra and Mattron who were astride mighty Harts, Cullen who sat at the helm with reins in hand to steer, and several polished men at arms acting honor guards; banners flying high above their helms. Josephine came along to help smooth over any remaining diplomatic issues in forming the new City council , Varric was the chronicler for the whole event, and finally Solas; the last three nestled inside the carriage with Seraphina.  
The Elven pair never let go of each other the whole ride, almost oblivious to the others as they talked quietly. “Do you think she will show?” Seraphina asked in a whisper as she looked to Solas, reddened eyes damp. 

Solas smiled somberly, leaned down to place a gentle kiss upon the Inquisitor’s forehead and a solitary thumb moving over her plush cheek; trying to be rid of any lingering tears. “We could only request she join us, Vhenan. Spirits not need bend to our wants.”

“I know, I just- . . . never mind.” She tucked her head into Solas’s shoulder and hid herself there, trying to gather a few seconds of peace before their arrival. He followed suit, his face laid in Seraphina’s hair with eyes shut; resting together in the hushed words of Varric and Josephine. 

Meanwhile Lyra and Mattron were dealing with their own grief, silent and lost in individual thought. 

Mattron was happy that Seraphina had someone as still as Solas to hold to, a stone in a storm, but he and Lyra were without such things; such people. For now at least.

The Brother looked over to the archer, her eyes either fixated on her mount’s main . . . or the back of the Commander’s head. Mattron was unsure if Lyra and Cullen had yet reconciled over the woman’s angry outburst several days before, and it made his heart heavy with burden to think on the estranged couple’s pain. One side of Mattron wanted nothing more than to shut down and sit in his own wallow, while the other wished to gather his sisters in arms and cry heavily with them; to heal with them, to feel with them. It was a conflict that left his expression blank, neither tears nor a smile etched across his face.

Perhaps when this was over . . . Mattron would seek the jovial jests of the Tevinter Mage. Dorian, despite how Mattron should feel about a Mage from the Imperium, made the warrior smile greatly.

Lyra was to fidgety for her own good, made only more so as she felt Mattron’s gaze linger on here every now and then; his Fatherly gaze setting an unknown expectation for the angered elf to subdue to. She would wiggled about in the leather saddle, get annoyed by the loud squeaks in the quiet air, then try to remain perfectly still; only resulting in a vicious cycle of shakes and sighs.

Her anger over the loss was gone, replaced by an echoing ache that nothing seemed to fill - save the little glances stolen from Cullen every now and then. But even those rare moments ended with both she and Cullen darting eyes away from one another; ashamed and uneasy. So instead Lyra watched the man from behind, wanting to vanish into the human’s shadow from the rest of the world.

**. . .**

The fresh damage about Wycome made the air thick and almost suffocating, made claustrophobic by the countless of spirits drawing to the city’s raw reak of death. Solas could feel their auras all drawn to another, a saddened audiences from across the Veil, yet he could not help ease them at this present time; able to only keep his own being calm so that if any lingering attention should fall upon him they would draw on his own stillness. That said, Solas was focused more on Seraphina; never leaving her side.

He watched the Inquisitor greet and mingle with the elves of Wycome’s alienage, as if the branding upon her face were never there; bleeding into them without Dalish boundaries. This was expected of his Vhenan, she was never closed even in pain. In that Solas felt a flicker of uncertainty within himself. He set out with the Inquisition to save the Elven people, not sympathize with them. His brows furrowed together and arms crossed behind his back, even more silent than his usual self that day. 

Hours dove deeper into the day, the sun following suit till the time came for the ceremony to begin. Twilight glittered high above in the smoky sky as Seraphina stepped before the gathered masses. As the Inquisitor she had to make inspiring speeches every now and then, one of the “perks” that came with the title, but no matter how many times she would do this it never got any easier. Solas knew this, he could see the little shaking of Seraphina’s shoulders and hear the light quiver in her voice. Still it did not deter from the mood, only increasing it for all to understand and mourn with her.

If there was one thing that lasted the stand of time it was the ability of the people to come together in the most grim of tidings, no matter in what lacking. 

His gaze never shied away from the Inquisitor as she went to each sapling with the alienage Elder at her side, both reciting the ancient burial rites in unison. Before this Seraphina helped the older woman learn the correct pronunciation of the Elven words, taking each syllable with great care and detail. To one such as Solas it was like trying to guide a child through a heavy sonnet, but Seraphina managed with a calm and collected smile. She had a patience that Solas never thought possible for one in such grief, and it made him proud.

Finally the pair came to the mound erected to Istimaethorial, the Inquisitor lowering herself onto to it to dig a hole with bare hands; tenderly placing the oak seed in the ground’s bossism. She was crying the whole time, heavily with red eyes and wet cheeks, and Solas wanted nothing more than to go to her; comfort her. But he waited till she was at his hip once more, helping to clean her fingers of the red earth with a delicate hold. There would be more to do as the moon would rise, but for now Solas held Seraphina in his arms; letting not one weary eye diffuse his attention from the Inquisitor.

**. . .**

There was a silent pause that lasted the whole eve, barely a word was said in the Alienage’s center as the audience remained in silent contemplation. Josephine did not remain long and Varric found himself in need of a good fire; both wanting to be rid of the chilling feelings about them. Mattron stayed for as long as Seraphina did, following his sister and Solas to a nearby inn for rest, but Lyra stood there even after all everyone was gone.

This was not the first time Lyra Lavellan felt alone in her life, but even in her darkest times there was always the Clan; her people, her family and friends. Now . . . Now there was only Mattron and Seraphina left in all the world, and it made the archer terrified. Without her people, without the Clan, where would she belong? Lyra was not like Seraphina, she could never blend into the Shemlen’s culture with such ease as her twin seemed to.

What could Lyra do? Where could Lyra belong? To whom could she-

“Lyra-” She jumped at the sudden voice, hands reflectively going for the bow that was absent from her spine. Lyra felt very silly for grabbing at the air, blushing wildly as she looked up to see Commander Cullen’s face. He to was taken back, even at his own voice, and flinched slightly at her reaction. “I-uh, forgive me. I did not mean to startle you.”

“It . . . it's fine, Commander.” She looked away from the man, shrinking in his presence. “I’m just a bit on edge.”

“I feel that most are here, with good reason.” Their voices were low, whispers as they stood before the rows of saplings. This was far from any norm Cullen knew to see the dead off, but he found it much more lasting than an Andrastian funeral pyre. The air was filled with the last scents of burning incense and the little trees swayed softly with the traveling breeze, familiar to a precious place from his childhood. In that thought Cullen could not help but smile softly, speaking once more. “It is peaceful here.” 

“As it should be.” Lyra nodded, crossing her arms over her chest; ears low. She dare not say anything about the looming stink of blood about the town, it wouldn’t do any good for anyone in such a downtrodden time. “This place, these people, deserve some peace . . . given all that happened here.” 

“And yourself?”

“What?” Her gaze darted back to Cullen’s face, wide-eyed at his words. 

Cullen repeated. “And yourself? Don’t you think you deserve some peace? There’s so much you have-” Cullen shook his head at reading her shock, shifting uncomfortably where he stood. “Forgive me, I doubt you wish to hear a lecture.”

Lyra remained silent for a little while, find her words again in a little sigh, “No, not really . . . And yet I’m still here.” The tiny elf turned a little smile up to the Commander. “If you have one prepared, It wouldn’t hurt to hear it.” Cullen chuckled, a deep sound that made her smile grow wider despite her desperation not to succumb.

“Another time perhaps.” Cullen suddenly seemed a little flustered. shifting his weight from one foot to another. “I uh-” His words were stuck, hitched in his chest like a bad cough; clearing his throat to try and release the speech. “There’s still a lot of work ahead for Wycome, none of it easy. It’s good the Elves here will have a place to gather and draw strength.”

“Yes.” Lyra answered with another short nod, turning her attention back to the graves. “Now, more than ever, these people will be left with no one to rely on; more so than before the Shem- . . . the Humans brought the red lyrium upon the city. They will need  
each other to move on, live on. No one but themselves will help now . . .”

Cullen thought for a quick moment before speaking again. “Is that how you feel? Now that Clan Lavellan is gone, you feel that no one will be there to aid you?” All his question gifted was Lyra’s silence. The Commander pulled in his bothers and brought up another hook to try and catch Lyra upon. “Do you remember what we talked about before? My siblings?”

“Two sisters and a brother, if I recall correctly. The ones who moved to South Reach after the blight?”

Cullen nods again, tilting his head as his mind dove into images of better days. “I love my siblings, even if they were loud; even more so as we have grown up. At times I would seek out quiet places to clear my head of petty struggles, feeling rather estranged sometimes; but I never felt truly un-aided in my plight. They would always find me, they would-”  
“  
You were happy when they came.”

“I was. I still am. As should you.” At seeing Lyra’s eyes begin to weld with tears Cullen felt perhaps he said too much, a gloved hand moving to carefully reached for her ebony hair. At seeing how she didn’t move away from his digits combing her long locks Cullen went on; making his point. “You have two wonderful siblings who want nothing but the best for you, and even in the differences you share with them they will always be there for you . . . a-as will I. Should you need me.”

Lyra sniffled, her hands moving to try and rub away the oncoming tears. The elf gave a cloudy chuckle, broken with small hiccups. “I-I doubt that, heh. I would want you to all to myself . . . h-how will you be able to survive without a parade of messengers and war reports at your heel, just myself?”

“They’ll manage without me, they’ll have to.” Cullen moved to close the gap between he and Lyra, his other hand moving to cup her jaw with a delicate hold. “The Inquisition walk into danger everyday, they know how significant little reprieves of peace can achieve; denying those moments . . . shames what we are fighting for. I want to take you away from the pain, if only for those sparse moments.”

Commander and Archer remained that way for a long while, finally the woman speaking as she pushed herself deep into his form for a tight embrace. “I-If you are willing, if you want to even knowing how . . . how hot-headed I can be, I w-want to spend more time together again. Like before.”

“Maker, I would like nothing more.” Cullen closed his eyes and tucked the woman into his arms, never wanting to let her go. “It seems to much to ask, but I want this . . . I want us.” He looked Lyra in her teal and golden eyes, her beauty overtaking him in the moonlight. She smiled and leaned upwards into him, meeting in a kiss that warmed them both to the bone.

**. . .**

Little did Lyra nor Cullen know, they had an audience. Mattron was watching the scene from the Inn’s second story windows, a smile staying on his face as he saw the forgiveness unfold. Two down, one to- . . . a sudden frown flashed onto Mattron’s face; darting his gaze down to the small Dalish toy he was carving.

 _Two down, one to go._ Mattron was thinking of himself and who he could ever find such a bond in, a rare ponder that almost never creeped into his train of thought. He knew his tastes were obscure to the norm of Thedas, not finding much sexually pleasing in the form of a woman, which made Mattron’s search seem futile. 

Dorian was a nice man, surprisingly strict in his own magic, and was always good for a laugh - but never would Mattron dare to think the Tevinter would find anything of desire in a Dalish elf; no matter how the fantasy of such an engagement could stir.  
No, Mattron would not think on it, getting back to work on the small Dalish soldier in his hands with a twitching need to clear his mind.

**. . .**

Seraphina did not sleep in the hours before the meeting would occur, tossing and turning on the mattress till a gentle tapping came from her door. She sprung from the bed, gathered a dark cloak, and moved to peek open the door. Solas gleamed at her in the dark, speaking with a softy hidden smirk. “Sleep well?”

“As much as one could at times like this.” Seraphina exited the room and locked her quarters with a turn of a key, turning back to Solas with a tired smile. “Let's go.” 

“Of course.” Solas did not stifle as Seraphina took his arm in hers, merely walking along beside her in the dead of night; prowling about shadowed halls and tight corridors like wolves on a hunt. Seraphina mimicked him like any good pup would do when in the presence of their Alpha, taking his lessons well. 

Solas lead the Inquisitor back to the Alienage, checking the streets for any sign of life. his ears twitched left, then twitched right; hearing for the slightest movement in the night. after a time he nodded, both elves moving into the clearing and towards the saplings. Once there Seraphina let go of Solas, moving forward to make her way to Istimaethorial’s grave. He watched her and their surroundings with high attention, ready for any shift in the Veil.

Seraphina on the other hand was leaving her senses dull and open, almost numb in waiting the presence she requested. This would be an experience of the life time, if the spirit showed. If not then-“Inquisitor.” Solas warned, causing Seraphina to turn about and gaze at the distance figure he was looking towards. 

There had been only one other spirit in kinship to the approaching entity that was recorded into history; Witherfang, The Lady of the Forest that dwelled deep within the Brecilian Forest. That long lost Lady was found only in the pages of historians in the time of the fifth Blight, but this distant cousin could not deter away from the request of the Inquisitor. 

Her skin was an ethereal green, carved and twining about limbs like the roots of a tree, and her hair was like the swaying branches of a blooming willow tree. She glowed radiantly, pink flowers almost cloud-like as they decorated her naked form. As she moved the echos of creaking trees sounded about her, the air scent like wet moss and sweet honeysuckle. A face of beauty was paired with a mouth full of sharp teeth, a symbol that even in a Wood’s beauty there was a danger. 

Seraphina stood and waited for the Forest Spirit to come upon her, both looking at the other with intense gazes. She knew at this point Solas could do little good, standing by only as a last line defense should things get out of control. The Dalish Mage waited, following the spirit's eyes up around the graveyard. The air died and not a sound was made as the spirit made up her mind, paused for the verdict like an awaiting court. 

Finally the Forest Spirit spoke, her voice as light as freshly fallen snow. “It is sleeping here?” 

“Yes, My Lady. Here.” Seraphina stepped to the side, a gesture aiming to the old Keeper’s mound. The Inquisitor continued to watch as the spirit moved about, making sure she would not be in the way for what would come next.

“You have done well for your people, dear child.” The spirit smiled and knelt to the dirt, a long fingered hand moved to sink stem like fingers into the mound. “And you have done well for my friend. He will grow safe here, far from the remaining taint of the Blight. Others will grown here, we will protect your dead and start anew life here.” 

“Thank you, My Lady.”

“All that remains is the life needed to bring him forth.” The Tree woman looked back to Seraphina, her free hand motioning for the elf to come closer. All involved knew what the price was, and Seraphina knew the gravity of it. Once the mortal hand was in the Spirit's palm she acted quick, her foreign fangs finding the glowing mark upon the Inquisitor’s hand and bit hard into the magic. From the bite the Spirit drew fourth Seraphina's blood and a tad bit of the green sparks, gathering it quickly off her teeth and mixing it into the dirt. 

Seraphina stood back and watched the magic work, tenderly gripping the burning mark and massaging the bite. It did not take long for the oak seed to push past it’s dirt veil, little green leaves opening up and roots taking foothold; magic vibrating about it’s tiny body until it was the size of the other trees about it. 

The spirit spoke again. “He knows you now, and the people who are buried here. Is is part of them, as you are part of them.” She stood and gave one of the branches a tender kiss. “We shall remain here, together. Thank you.”  
“You are welcome, My Lady. I know the elves here will welcome you. They . . . they have had so little of good magic, and your presence will help purify their lands.”

“Hm.” The Forest spirit nodded in agreement, seeming lost suddenly in her own thought. Solas and Seraphina looked on a while longer as the woman walked between the saplings, reaching out to each and holding them as if they were little needing babes. Truly she would have a new family now, new lands, a new life.

“Vhenan, come.” Solas laid a hand upon the Inquisitor’s shoulder and drew her away from the scene, walking back to the inn in a respectful silence.


	7. Winter’s Weaning

That Winter in Wycome was less harsh than the people expected, and the new grove of trees in the Alienage bloomed no matter how wicked the weather. It was said to be a miracle, a sign that all would be well for the City, and a testament to their survival of the Red Templar corruption. Seraphina was glad that Wycome and the graves of her Clan were in splendor that winter, her mind set at relative ease so She and the others of the Inquisition could beat away on all malicious content spewing from every corner of Thedas; from Corypheus’s lackies, seas of bandits, packs of undead, and the hundreds of rift demons. 

Such works brought Seraphina, Solas, Varric, and Iron Bull to The Dales; The Exalted Plains, The Emerald Graves, and Emprise du Lion. Each area was coated in a thick sheet of ice and snow, making the work load a tad bit difficult. Where there was a lack of wildlife, came in the rush Red Templars and the like, plenty of challenge with their tainted blood splashing about the landscapes. 

In Emprise du Lion Seraphina and the inner circle slowly erased the corrupted Templars from their reddened camps, and in the Emerald Graves the Inquisition helped deliver food and other necessities to Fairbank’s people. In all the work however, there was no such challenge as before when presented with the Exalted Plains. Between the demon filled bunkers and scattering of Venatori forces Seraphina wondered why the local Dalish clan wished remained - low on food, scarce on water, and down on basic supplies. For a long and trogging week Seraphina remained there in efforts to help to Clan in any task they needed, against Solas’s subtle irritation. In several back and forth meetings with Oreleasian soldiers in the region she gathered several herbs, pelts, woods, and rations for the Dalish - even going so far as to bring together a small mixed group of workers to help break apart the river, pick axes and flames brought to the ice until the water broke into it’s freedom. 

It was early spring by the time Seraphina was ready to move on from the three regions, back to Skyhold and aiming to gather the needed strength to take on the next batch of troubles. She had even convinced the Dalish of the Exalted Plains to back up and settle for spring in Skyhold. Even Solas helped back up the aravels with little complaint, male Mage kept very calm and collected for the most part; for Seraphina’s sake. 

There was just one final task of urgency to take care of before all would set to the road. A distressed mother came to Keeper Hawen and told him that her little boy had not came back for lunch that day, which had been hours ago. The child was dutiful and would always obey his mother’s wishes - so this behavior was so very unlike him. At the request of the Keeper Seraphina agreed to go looking for the boy, aiming to have him and his clan moving to Skyhold that very evening.

“It’s good for a boy to get out and explore some.” Bull said as they walked about the plains, coming upon the height of a waterfall. “He’s probably on his way back home right now, sitting at a nice little fire. Wrapped in a blanket and all warm with his mom and some of that soup they made last night.” The Qunari grumbled and rubbed his chilled, bare arms. “Damn, I could use some soup.”

“If you didn’t want to come along you could have stayed behind, Bull.” Seraphina, unlike the half nude Bull in his sparse armors, was layered with robes and under-dressings; packed for bear to protect herself from the melting cold about them. Her words were even muffled by the scarf around her face and neck. 

“Tiny’s probably just missing the heat of Seheron. Not enough palm trees here for his taste.” Varric’s comment gained him a little scowl from the warrior.

“Yeah, there’s also a huge lack of chaty, annoying dwarves in Seheron. Miss that to.” Bull commented back with a smirk.

“Oh, both of you hush up. You’d be miserable without each other!” Seraphina said with a light giggle, digging her staff into the ground and looked about the landscape for any sign of the boy. Her long ears moved up, moved down, side to side, listening for the slightest clue of where the lost lad could be. “I think we need to try and-” But before Seraphina could finish her thought there was sharp, high pitched yell that burst into the air; sending the group running towards it. “There! There he is!” She pointed down river, the youth’s arms and head bobbing in and out of the harsh winter water; chunks of ice and debris threatening to take him under. 

The Inquisitor and the others ran as fast as they could through the thick snow and around hillsides, trying not to lose track of him. But Varric was not a runner, Bull only a sprinter, and Solas’s flames could only melt the snow so far ahead. The boy would not last before they could get to a safe spot along the shore. Seraphina only paused for a moment to think, dropping her staff, then jue,ped into a full sprint forward; stripping layer after layer of her attire off till she was left to nothing but her main dress. She acted before any of her group could stop her.

“Inquisitor, no!” Solas yelled as Seraphina drove head first into the water, knowing good and well she couldn’t swim; or at least not very well. “Seraphina!” He skidded to a halt to see if his Vhenan would emerge from the freezing depths, a gut wrenching pain rocking Solas to his core as his breath was lost. In this singular, stupid instant she could be lost to them forever. Lost to him, and the anchor with her. It scared him far worse than dying alone, and far more than anything he’d felt before awaking to this world - the one chance to fix his mistake could be gone . . .

“Seraphina!!” Solas yelled again and ran down the river, a desperate shrill in the Mage’s voice that neither Varric nor Bull had ever heard before. The Two were on Solas’s heel like lightning, eyes scanning the river for either sign of the elven boy or Seraphina. 

“There! Upahead!” It was Iron Bull, with his height, that caught sight of the Inquisitor and the boy; the female gripping tight to a branch of a fallen tree, with the little elven boy tight to her chest. They were barely feet away from toppling over the side of a waterfall, deadly jutting ice waiting below. “Shit! Hold on Boss, we’re coming!” 

“Hurry!” Seraphina coughed out the words as loud as she could, and as quickly as her mouth opened it filled with water; teeth chattering beyond control. She barely had time to grab the boy and the branch at the same time, and even in that she could feel her fingers starting to slip off the wetted wood; the bark covered in a thin layer of dripping slush that threatened to release the two Elves to their deaths. “I-I can’t-!”

“Oh yes you can! Don’t let go!” Varric shouted as he loaded Biannca with a bolt. Solas tied to a robe to it’s end, the dwarf took aim close Seraphina’s spot along the tree, and fire the bolt into the log; but not so near that it would put the stability of the Inquisitor’s grip in danger. With a hard thunk the bolt’s tip sunk into the tree, the three men along the shore making sure it was taught to support several people’s weight. “Grab the rope!”

“Come on Boss! You aren't dying on my watch.” Bull was waist deep in the strong current, holding to the cable with one hand as the other was reaching out to Seraphina; ready to take hold of the Inquisitor as soon as she was close enough along the robe. “Pull yourself towards me, but don’t move unless you got a good grip!”

“Vhenan, hurry!” Solas looked as if he would jump in any second but couldn’t, for he was not Heavy like Bull and the skinnier male would get swept away in the river if he dared enter. So he was left pacing along the rocky beds of the shore, trying to think of any quicker alternatives; but there were none. 

And so the terribly slow crawl began for both Seraphina and the boy. She needed both hands to pull them along the rope, so the young elf had to hold to her dress as hard as he could. Seraphina groaned and made her way along the line, pausing a few times to try and catch her breath. At this point it felt like she was breathing in more water than air, and if she was having such a hard time Seraphina could not imagine the overwhelming stress the boy was having beat upon him. “H-hold on a little bit longer! W-We’re almost there!!” 

That was the truth, with Bull just meters away with his thick arm ready to sweep them up from the icy waters. The boy called back. “I-I’m trying, but your dress is-!” A wave splashed over their heads, taking both the Inquisitor and child under for a few seconds. As Seraphina’s head emerged she looked to see if the boy was still hooked to her . . . and with disappear she saw her bodice had been ripped at the seams and the boy was being carried away once more. 

“NO!” Seraphina did the only thing she could do. She let go, hearing the screams of her party as her arms came around the boy again and the pair plunged over the side of the waterfall. 

Seraphina closed her eyes and felt the boy hold tight to her as they went flowing with the water, knowing that at least it would be a quick death. They hit, they rolled, they seemed to float for a few moments, and then something came down upon Seraphina’s neck; clamping around like hard teeth and blasting heat. She tried to gasp in pain but her sound was meet by water, muted by a pounding all about her. Perhaps the ice had speared her throat and had her strung up like hunted game at the bottom of the river bed. If so then maybe the boy was spared the watery daggers and managed to resurface somewhere further downstream. Either way Seraphina was sure she was dead, and she would never be able to say goodbye to her friends, her family, her Solas . . . .

Her eyes were still closed and the world was frozen, save the light sound of rushing water and a slight ringing in her head. She remained that way for a long while, feeling something that she could only be described as comforting push all about her; a warm blanket of death coming to wash away any remaining pain away. This was it, this was death. She took a deep breath, not caring it she breath in water anymore, grateful that- . . . why did death smell like a wet dog? 

Cautiously Seraphina opened one eye, meet by a damp and dank coat of black fur; matted with ice and mud. The other eye opened and she looked down to see the boy tucked into her torso, breathing soundly as if he were merely sleeping. Alive, not dead. The Inquisitor tried to get up a, but the unknown fur cover did not budge - in fact it seemed tense, stuck, unwilling to move. “What the-” Seraphina muttered, shaking her head, and attempted to feel about for her other senses. She was cold, hurting all over, but alive. She was soaking wet, maybe bleeding from a few cuts, but alive. Seraphina was alive. “How?”

“Se-r-ina!” There was a muffled voice somewhere outside the fur nest. She waited to see if that was merely a trick of her mind or if it was real. “-era-hi-!”

“I-I’m here, I’m here!” She called back, trying to wiggle about. Seraphina’s movements must have stirred something in the furry mass above her, for it began and move as well; breathing, growling. The Inquisitor froze, the sounds kicking her memory and fear into heightened levels of consciousness. She and the lad were under the chest of a great beast, about as big as a great bear and just as deadly, with it’s mass encompassing both of their bodies like like a babe in a swaddling cloth. A wolf.

“Bo- . . . you all-ight?” That had to have been Iron Bull, his deep tone recognisable anywhere; muffled or not. 

“Bull? I-I’m ok. The boy is ok to! I’m going to try and come out, stand back!” And very carefully Seraphina began to move again, bringing the child even closer to her as she pushed against the Wolf’s hulking body. The animal growled but Seraphina didn't care. Finally a shard of light busted into Seraphina's sight, eyes meeting the light of day and she gasped at the fresh air. 

“Vhenan!” That voice was Solas, a shadowy figure with pointed ears not far away; but he was obscured by the hair in her face and he was just a huge blur. 

“S-Solas . . . I think I’m alive.” She said with a cough. 

“Damn right you are, Boss! Damn right, hahaha!” Bull was ecstatic, his big hands clapping for a round of applause. 

“I know this may be a bit too soon, but would you mind if I work this into my next book?” And there was Varric, always bringing a smile to Seraphina. 

“I-If you think it was heroic enough, t-then sure.” She managed a small chuckle, blinking a few more times to try and get a clearer picture. “For now can we-” Seraphina’s words were lost as she turned to look into the huge, yellow eye of the wolf; their gaze meeting like lightening - quick and filled with static. The others let jokes and praize fall to the waist side, coming back into the gravity of the situation.

Solas carefully approached, stopping just as the wolf gave another growl; it’s lips rearing back to show off a wide caine fang towards the mage. “Inquisitor, try not to move too quickly or too suddenly. I do not think he,” Solas gave a little nod to the Wolf “, means you any harm. In fact I think he saved you, and the boy.”

“ . . . I-I suppose I should thank him then?” Seraphina asked, still looking into the creature’s eye as it moved from herself to the other mage. 

Solas gave a light laugh. “Should you wish, but I think freeing you is the more precedent concern. Come Vhenan, slow movements.” He motioned for Seraphina to crawl to him, a desperate yearning lost in his stricken blue eyes. 

Inch by inch Seraphina managed to writhe herself free, with the unconscious boy still held to her form, sitting up with a juttering ache in her neck; fingers going to trace along the fang marks from where the wolf must have grabbed hold of her neck. The puncture wounds were bleeding down unto her collarbone and gown, soaking in her dark hair and smearing upon the boy’s own clothes. But that bleeding was minimal compared to what the wolf was enduring, his deep crimson blood pooling in a heated puddle that gave off a light vapor in the cold air, hot and fresh from his body. 

The animal was dying.

She spoke with a grieved sadness to her voice, looking over the Wolf’s condition. “The poor thing, he . . .he must have taken the brace of the fall on himself.” Solas helped Seraphina rise, which prompted another soft growl, but the canine was far too gone to try and physically intervene. He had done his job, and rest was coming quickly. 

“From what we could see,” Varric began, stepping forward to take the child into his arms with great care. “, you and the kid went over the waterfall, and as soon as you vanished out of sight the wolf came out from a nearby groove. Dove right over with you. Phew,” Varric sighed with a smile as the boy began to move about and awaken. “, he seems ok. A few bruises and cold as stone, but he’ll live.”

“Good.” Seraphina was shaking now which promoted Solas removed his own dense wolf pelt, wrapping it about her to try and warm her. She gave him her thanks in a small smile, barely visible between the tremors of her teeth; lips a pale blue hue. After that her attention was brought back to the wolf, who was not breathing anymore. Her heart wrenched in her chest, a warm pain echoing in her words. “He . . . is he-?”

“Yes. He’s gone.” Solas helped Seraphina over to the great animal, one of her hands moving to tenderly pet the Wolf’s massive shoulder. He watched her softly stroke the fur, her silent mourning rather surprising to Solas. Months before, when Seraphina had played hide and seek with the children of Skyhold, she had shown great fear to the apparitional Fen’Harel that Solas had created in the smoke - and even after that she would show great hesitation and lingering superstitions with other wolves. He had seen her go great distances away from their goals to avoid wandering even remotely close to wolf territory and once she tossed scraps of food in a fight as a distraction in order to flee from an oncoming pack. What changed? 

“Vhenan, we should bring you back to camp. There we can-” Solas’s words were cut off as the child in the dwarf’s arms screamed awake, fear filled eyes beamed at the wolf’s bulk of a body.

Varric tried to settle the elven boy down, wrapping wide arms about the tiny shaking frame. “Whoa there! Settle down Kid. You’re ok, you’re fine, nothing's going to-”

“It-Its the Dread Wolf!” The boy cried and pointed to the dead animal. “Its the Dread Wolf, its the Dread Wolf!!”

Seraphina looked to the terrified child with hurt in her eyes. She spoke softly. “N-No, he-he won’t hurt you; he didn’t hurt you. He saved us, you and me from-”

“It’s the Dread Wolf, and he aimed to kill us!” The boy was lost to his hysterics now and there would be no subduing his fear, the shock of his ordeal and condition of his body wasting away at his mind. “I want to go home, I want my mommy! I don’t wanna die, I don't wanna die!”

Solas looked from the child to Seraphina, surprised once more by the pained offense blazing in her gaze; and in her expression he felt his chest tighten. What changed?

Seraphina sent Iron Bull, Varric, and the boy on ahead to the camp while she and Solas remained behind; the Inquisitor settling herself down beside the wolf’s body. They were stuck silent for a long time, Solas as stoic as ever as he watched his lover’s mood and actions. 

Eventually she spoke. “It’s him . . . Fen’Harel. Or at least,” The healer went to pull up the ends of her dress, stiff as a light frost settled over the damp fabric, and showed her scared ankle once more; the wolf bite from her childhood on display for Solas to look at. “, he’s the one my people wish to think is . . . was Fen’Harel. He must have-”

“Vhenan.” Solas moved to kneel beside Seraphina, a single hand moving to run through her hair with care. “It could not have been the same wolf as before. It couldn’t have.”

“W-Why not? He saved me once before, he could do so again. But this time it cost him his life . . . Look.” She moved her leg over to the corpses jaws, pried open his maw with trembling hands, and compared the scar to the present teeth. While age and time made Seraphina’s scars muddied, Solas could not deny that the pattern left in her flesh and the way this Fen’Harel’s teeth lined up was disturbingly, unmistakably, a match. 

“See? Same marks, same spacing. He saved me Solas . . . he saved me, a-and I don’t know how to feel. I . . . I was never cursed by Fen’Harel. I was blessed. I-I was-oh Solas!” The tears in Seraphina’s eyes drew Solas to hold her in his arms, gathering her with a tight embrace, and walked back to the Dalish camp while trying to comfort away her pain.

**. . .**

After the child was returned to his Mother, and the extent of his and Seraphina’s injuries were taken into consideration, the Clan decided it would be best to rest for one final night; setting for Skyhold when morning would come. Till then, the people were left to do as they pleased, Solas and Seraphina set in a private aravel together for some precious moments alone. 

The woman lay on a thin layer of blankets and pillows, the back of her neck bared for Solas to go over; blushing in embarrassment despite the heavy thoughts in her mind. In this mix she remained silent and stiff, letting Solas do most of the conversation. “Vhenan, never do this again.” Solas spoke almost vindictively, checking over Seraphina’s injuries, going next to clear away the dried blood so he could see the full extent of the damage. 

“C-Can’t make any promises, S-Solas.” Seraphina smiled softly, giving a light hiss as his hands trailed over the broken flesh at her neck; Solas’s magic guiding the gashes to melt back together in a numbing, yet uncomfortable, pull. There would be the shadows of scars left over for many years to come, but Seraphina wanted those scars to remain as some sort of living proof towards. . . a greater purpose? She had lived through so many pains, so many scrapes with death, that every new scar and experience had to be planned; in one way or another. By The Maker, or Fen’Harel, or perhaps some other unknown god? There had to be a divine meaning behind it all. There had to be. It couldn’t just be one huge mistake, not one huge coincidence. 

It couldn’t be. There had to be-“D-Did Iron Bull go back to him?” Seraphina asked at a whisper.

“I believe so. He was instructed to bury the body, as you asked.”

“And the stones?”

Solas grinned in the dim, red light; an outside campfire’s glow the only light source in the Inquisitor’s aravel. “I drew a picture to help demonstrate the correct formation to build on the sight. I believe Master Tethras went along to help with the specifics.”

“Ma serannas, ma Vhenan.” The Inquisitor sighed and closed her eyes, continuing to lay down as Solas pressed a herbal compress upon the back of her neck. It was soothing, threatening to send Seraphina to sleep, but not quite yet as she heard the shuffling of Solas leaving the aravel.

“Solas.” He paused at her voice, waiting. “C-Can you stay with me tonight . . . please?”

His thoughtful hum vibrated in the close quarters, hinting at the devious smile set to his expression as his shaded face turned back towards Seraphina. “The _Dalish_ Inquisitor sharing her bed with a _non-Dalish_ , while in a _Dalish_ camp? Careful, this might be the start of blasphemy.” 

“I don’t think I am Dalish enough anymore to really care what they think . . . ” Seraphina bit her lip at those words, tucking her arms under herself in insecurity; the flare of the sudden bitterness shocking her. “If . . . If you do not wish to then-” All her words were stopped as Seraphina felt Solas’s form press against hers, his long arms wrapping around her body, his lips pressed into the back of her head. 

He held her there in the silence of night, waiting till Seraphina was lost deep into her own dreams before Solas drifted off into his own. Solas wanted to make sure that the Inquisitor was lost to her sleepy tidings so that she would not venture too close to him in the fade. For what he intended to seek would disillusion any to the truths Seraphina had ever known.

**. . .**

It did not take Solas long to find the Wolf in the the Fade, or more correctly it did not take the Wolf long to find Solas. While the Mage was limited in his travels within the Fade’s version of the Exalted Plains, his reach incomplete in many ways, the Wolf seemed at home among the jaded landscape; it’s mists conforming to fur and nail as if it were a second skin. In their difference however Solas could feel a old familiarity, a shade of Arlathan beaming out from yellow eyes. 

This was a very old spirit, and it showed in the way his true self looked. The body was still that of the large wolf, matted with the same blood and mud from his death in Thedas, but the edges of his legs and head seemed to blur; an almost glittering gold whisper moving about the Spirit's whole person. At times Solas could even see the old Elvhenan swirls of the past culture slithering about the black fur, like gilded snakes or curious wisps.

He waited for the Wolf to find a comfortable place to lay down, hands crossed behind his back and expression flat. when all was paused Beast and Man found the air still with hesitation, on both parties. What could one Wolf say to another? What secrets could be shared or stories told? There could at least be truths, at least.

“Greetings be with you, Fen’Harel.” The wolf spoke first, jaw never moving, in perfect Elven. The spirit’s eyes were calm, blinking once or twice to mimicking a state of living. 

“And with you, Dread Wolf.” Solas bowed his head, finding his mood give mild slack. 

“I suspect you have questions.” The Wolf, the spirit, tilted it’s wide head to the side; a smile in the ethereal voice.

“And you shall have answers?”

“Depending on what you ask, yes.”

It was like speaking to a mirror and that unsettled Solas to his core. The elf paused in thought, collecting his stream of consciousness before speaking again. “Why her? And why me? What notion caused you to take this shape?”

“Shall I start from the beginning?” At Solas’s nod the Wolf went on. “She did not become my fascination till much later in life, and before that . . . there was you. I was one of those beings that roamed Elvhenan with the people in the time before the Veil was erected, a spirit of protection. I saw what you did to protect the ones trapped under the thumb of the Evanuris, take away the vallaslin, build them sanctuaries to live in. It pleased me, honored me. In you I _felt the whole world change_.”

Protection paused, his pointed ears flicking about as if he had heard something; perhaps keeping guard incase the one they were speaking of made her way there. “She is a special accident, precious, and in her I saw a reflection of you; even before the anchor.” Solas knew better to interrupt a spirit, even if he wanted to. “I never expected to find one such as her after what you had to do. You know what become of my kind when the Veil was brought up, it excluded me to the world’s progression. I was not able to cross over until the short time after Halamshiral and the damage was already dealt to your tale. That would not do; I had to find one such as you, to bring peace to my lost admiration.”

The Wolf rose and gave a quick stretch of his body before walking down the cliff to be eye level with Solas. “I searched the lands, looking for one with the same honor, but then my quest was paused as I found the call of a dying beast; a wolf, obviously. Most of his pack had been poached by humans and he lay bleeding out in a local stream; fur and flesh being dragged by the currents. He begged me to take his body, take possession, and run to the den to protect the cubs left all alone; his fear being that the humans would find them. I could not deny his request, I could not turn away from his pain. I do not need to tell you what happens when a spirit takes hold of a mortal’s form.”

“Your purpose become corrupted.” Solas’s brows creased with distress, soloum. “Protection turned to Destruction.”

“Yes. I did as the wolf asked and went to his den, but all I found were the broken body of his young. I felt a furry in me that day that damned my existence as a living corpse, the blood of those humans staining my fur long years after I feast upon their corpses; down to their very bones. In my madness I tried to achieve destruction to those that would hurt others and attempted to protect the weak in those situations, but the morals mixed too many times to where . . . I hurt the innocent by accident; in one way or another. One of these instances was with a small, Elven girl as she fell through a sheet of thin ice.”

“Seraphina.”

“Yes, Seraphina.” The Wolf’s eyes closed and there was another hint of a smile in his words. “I saw her black hair, bright eyes, and I could feel the heart of the wolf cry out; she was so much like the pups he- . . . I lost long ago. It as inevitable that I would dive in and save her, but my act was seen as a curse than a rescue. With the Dalish distortions and the stigma of the Dread Wolf, Seraphina’s state was set till her dying days as one of my pawns. That was until-”

“My Foci.” 

The Wolf nodded again. “Up to that point she had a false god haunting her existence, but when the orb’s power was thrust upon her Seraphina’s god had become all too real; she had become all too real.” The spirit's gazed was stuck on Solas as the Elf began to pace back and forth, his inner turmoils and thoughts almost blasting out of him like fountains of blood from an open wound; and it all it hurt even greater in the Fade. “I stole your name and in my rotted misgivings I only pushed the misunderstanding of your legacy to all in this age. I would ask for your forgiveness, Fen’harel, but we do not have the time to heal this damage with compassion. What either you or me can do for her, for them, the people, is stagnant until the Inquisition defeats that Darkspawn abomination. After that, with the Foci, you can correct-”

“I know. I know . . .”

“But it will hurt. An outstanding pain that topples even the passing of Mythal. You cared for Mythal, but you _love_ Seraphina. Before my passing at the waterfall’s end I spoke to Love, and she told me just how far your affections delve for the Inquisitor. The need to protect and the need to destroy are a conflict in you, she being at the heart of it all. I cannot tell you what to do, I have lost all wisdom and understanding to be a guide you need. But you don’t need a guide, do you? The path has been set before you, so all I can do . . .is wish you luck.”

Solas looked back to the Wolf, Protection, Destruction, watching the spirit fade away into the Fade once more - gone for now, but not forgotten. He knew the Spirit would not act in the name of Fen’Harel anymore, knowing that the true owner of the title was back into existence, but knowing it could still eye on Seraphina’s life sent a chill up Solas’s spine. She was having so much burden tossed upon her, physically, mentally, and emotionally, and he wasn’t such how much she would be able to handle before the final snap.

It would be hard to tell what pillars of the Inquisitor’s faith had been shaken apart that day, how far the scars would spread and the theories would crack, but in her aura and in the fade Solas could feel a change in his Vhenan. For better or for worse was unknown and it could take any measure of time to determine exactly; which would frustrate Solas to no end. He didn’t have years to try and solve Seraphina’s mysteries, and his heart was pounding in pain just how lost he might have to leave her one day . . .

**Author's Note:**

> Hello Everyone! Thanks for reading my little dabble of Solvellan feels. 
> 
> I didn't necessarily write this for anyone other then myself, but I thought "Sure, why not give it a public try!" 
> 
> I hope you like it and stick around <3
> 
> P.S. - If you see any spelling mistakes, please don't be afraid to point them out to me!


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